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FRANK 


MARIA    EDGEWORTH. 


COMPLETE     IN     ONE     TOLITHE. 


NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED  BY   HARPER   &    BROTHERS, 
NO.      82     CLIFF-STR£ET. 


184  2. 


ADDRESS  TO  MOTHERS. 


In  offering  these  little  books  to  those  kind  mothers 
who  attend  to  the  early  instruction  of  their  children,  the 
authors  beg  leave  to  prefix  a  few  observations  on  early 
education  which  have  occurred  to  them  since  the  for- 
mer parts  of  these  books  were  published. 

We  found,  to  our  high  gratifications,  during  a  visit 
which  we  lately  paid  to  England,  that  the  attention  of 
parents,  in  every  rank  of  society,  was  turned  to  the  early 
education  of  their  children. 

Formerly  a  child  was  left,  during  the  first  eight  or  ten 
years,  to  chance,  in  every  part  of  its  education  except 
its  book  and  keeping  its  clothes  clean — the  mother  or 
the  nursery-maid  attended  to  the  latter,  for  their  own 
sakes — the  father,  remembering  the  praise  that  had  been 
bestowed  upon  himself  when  he  was  a  child,  was  anx- 
ious that  his  son  should  learn  to  read  as  soon  as  possible. 

The  object  was  to  cram  children  with  certain  com- 
monplaces of  knowledge,  to  furnish  them  with  answers 
to  ready-made  questions,  to  prove  that  the  teacher, 
whether  parent,  schoolmaster,  or  private  tutor,  had  kept 
the  pupil's  memory,  at  least,  at  hard  work,  and  had  con- 
fined his  limbs  and  his  mind,  for  many  hours  in  the  day, 
to  study. 

At  present,  the  attention  of  parents  is  more  extended ; 
they  endeavour  to  give  their  pupils  reasonable  motives 
for  industry  and  application.  They  watch  the  tempers 
and  dispositions  of  children ;  they  endeavour  to  culti- 
vate the  general  powers  of  the  infant  understanding,  in- 
stead of  labouring  incessantly  to  make  them  reading, 
writing,  and  calculating  machines. 

To  assist  them  in  these  views,  parents  have  now  a 
number  of  excellent  elementary  books.  Such  a  variety 
of  these  have  of  late  years  been  published,  that,  by  a 
proper  use  of  them,  more  general  knowledge  can  be  now 
acquired  by  a  child,  with  two  hours'  daily  application, 
than  could  have  been  acquired,  fifty  years  ago,  by  the 
constant  labour  of  ten  hours  in  the  four-and-twenty. 
,    There  are  persons  who  think  that  the  ease  with  which 


8  ADDRESS  TO  MOTHERS. 

knowledge  is  thus  obtained,  and  its  dispersion  through 
the  wide  mass  of  society,  are  unfavourable  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  science ;  that  knowledge  easily  acquired 
is  easily  lost ;  that  it  makes  scarcely  any  salutary  im- 
pression upon  the  mind,  impeding,  instead  of  invigora- 
ting its  native  force  :  they  assert  that  the  principal  use 
of  early  learning  is  to  inure  the  young  mind  to  applica- 
tion ;  and  that  the  rugged  path  of  scholastic  discipline 
taught  the  foot  of  the  learner  to  trade  more  firmly,  and 
hardened  him  to  bear  the  labour  of  climbing  the  more 
difficult  ascents  of  literature  and  science. 

Undoubtedly,  the  infant  mind  should  be  inured  to 
labour ;  but  it  can  scarcely  be  denied,  that  it  is  better  to 
bestow  that  labour  upon  what  is  within  the  comprehen- 
sion of  a  child,  than  to  cram  its  memory  with  what  must 
be  unintelligible.  A  child  is  taught  to  walk  upon  smooth 
ground  ;  and  no  persons  in  their  senses  would  put  an  in- 
fant on  its  legs  for  the  first  time  on  rugged  rocks. 

It  seems  to  be  a  very  plain  direction  to  a  teacher,  to 
proceed  from  what  is  known  to  the  next  step  which  is 
not  known ;  but  there  are  pedagogues  who  choose  the 
retrograde  motion  of  going  from  what  is  little  known  to 
what  is  less  known.  Surely  a  child  may  be  kept  em- 
ployed, and  his  faculties  may  be  sufficiently  exercised, 
by  gradual  instruction  on  subjects  suited  to  his  capacity, 
where  every  step  advances,  and  where  the  universal  and 
rational  incentive  to  application,  success^  is  perceived 
by  the  learner. 

So  far  from  thinking  that  there  is  a  royal  road  to  any 
science,  I  believe  that  the  road  must  be  long,  but  I  do 
not  think  it  need  be  rugged  :  I  am  convinced  that  a  love 
for  learning  may  be  early  induced,  by  making  it  agree- 
sible;  that  the  listless  idleness  of  many  an  excellent 
scholar  arises,  not  from  aversion  to  application,  but  from 
having  all  the  family  of  pain  associated  with  early  in- 
struction. By  pain  I  do  not  merely  mean  the  pain  of 
corporeal  correction,  or  of  any  species  of  direct  punish^ 
ment.  Even  where  parents  have  not  recourse  to  these, 
they  often  associate  pain  indissolubly  with  literature, 
by  compelling  children  to  read  that  which  they  cannot 
understand.  One  of  the  objects  of  this  address  to 
mothers  is  to  deprecate  this  practice,  and  to  prevent  this 
evil  in  future.  Let  me  most  earnestly  conjure  the  pa- 
rents and  teachers  into  whose  hands  these  volumea 
may  come,  to  lay  any  of  them  aside  immediately  that  is 


•Ai)DRESg  TO  MOTHERS.  § 

not  easily  understood ;  a  time  will  come  when  that 
which  is  now  rejected  may  be  sought  for  with  avidity. 
I  am  particularly  anxious  upon  this  subject,  because  we 
have  found  from  experience,  that  the  "  Early  Lessons" 
are  not  arranged  in  the  order  in  which,  for  the  facility 
of  the  learner,  they  ought  to  be  read.  In  fact,  the  order 
in  which  they  were  first  published  was  the  order  of  time 
in  which  they  were  written,  and  not  of  the  matter  which 
they  contained.  The  first  part  of  Harry  and  Lucy  was 
written  by  me  thirty-four  years  before  Frank  and  Ros- 
amond were  written  by  my  daughter.  Frank  is  the 
easiest  to  be  understood,  and  should,  therefore,  have 
come  first ;  after  Frank,  the  first  part  of  Harry  and 
Lucy ;  then  Rosamond ;  and,  lastly,  the  second  part  of 
Harry  and  Lucy,  which  was  written  long  after  the  first 
part  had  been  published.  This  latter  part  should  not  be 
put  into  the  hands  of  pupils  before  they  are  eight  years 
old.  We  have  heard  children  say,  "  We  love  little  Frank, 
because  it  is  easy ;  but  we  hate  Harry  and  Lucy,  because  it 
is  difficult.^''  We  defer  implicitly  to  their  opinion ;  well- 
educated  children  are,  in  fact,  best  judges  of  what  is  fit 
for  children. 

Moliere's  hackneyed  old  woman  was  not  so  good  a 
critic  of  comedy  as  a  child  of  eight  years  old  might  be 
of  books  for  infants. 

Whenever,  therefore,  a  child,  who  has  in  general  a 
disposition  for  instruction,  shows  a  dislike  for  any 
book,  lay  it  aside  at  once,  without  saying  any  thing  upon 
the  subject ;  and  put  something  before  him  that  is  more 
to  his  taste.  For  instance,  in  the  following  books,  dif- 
ferent parts  of  them  are  suited  to  the  tastes  of  different 
children,  as  well  as  to  children  of  different  ages.  It  is 
therefore  strongly  recommended  to  parents  to  select 
what  they  find  upon  trial  to  be  the  best  for  their  imme- 
diate purpose,  and  to  lay  aside  the  rest  for  another  op- 
portunity. We  have  repeatedly  heard  parents  and 
teachers  complain  of  the  want  of  books  for  their  pupils : 
can  there  be  a  better  proof  of  the  general  improvement 
that  has  taken  place  of  late  years  in  the  modes  of  in- 
struction, than  this  desire  for  early  literature  1  When  I 
was  a  child,  I  had  no  resource  but  Newberry's  little 
books  and  Mrs.  Teachum ;  and  now,  when  every  year 
produces  something  new  and  something  good  for  the 
supply  of  juvenile  libraries,  there  is  still  an  increasing 
demand  for  children's  books.    In  a  selection  of  this 


10 


ADDRESS    TO   MOTHERS. 


sort,  teachers  of  prudence  and  experience  are  cautious 
not  to  be  deceived  by  a  name,  or  by  an  alluring  title- 

Sage  :  they  previously  examine  vrhat  they  put  into  the 
ands  of  their  scholars  ;  they  know  that  want  of  infor- 
mation in  a  child  is  preferable  to  confused  and  obscure 
instruction ;  that  for  their  pupils  to  know  any  one  thing 
well,  and  to  be  able  to  convey  to  others,  in  appropriate 
language,  the  little  knowledge  which  they  may  have  ac- 
quired, is  far  preferable  to  a  string  of  ready  made  an- 
swers to  specific  questions,  which  have  been  merely 
committed  to  memory ;  that  an  example  of  proper 
conduct,  of  a  noble  sentiment,  the  glow  of  enthusiasm 
raised  by  a  simple  recital  of  a  generous  action,  have 
more  influence  upon  the  tempers  and  understandings 
of  children  than  the  most  pompous  harjmgues  of  studied 
eloquence. 

In  choosing  books  for  young  people,  the  enlightened 
parent  will  endeavour  to  collect  such  as  tend  to  give 
general  knowledge,  and  to  strengthen  the  understanding. 
Books  which  teach  particular  sciences  or  distinct 
branches  of  knowledge  should  be  sparingly  employed. 
In  one  word,  the  mind  should  be  prepared  for  instruction ; 
the  terms  of  every  art  and  every  science  should,  in 
some  degree,  be  familiar  to  the  child,  before  any  thing 
like  a  specific  treatise  on  the  subject  should  be  read. 

It  is  by  no  means  our  intention  to  lay  down  a  course 
of  early  instruction,  or  to  limit  the  number  of  books  that 
may  in  succession  be  safely  put  into  the  hand  of  the  pu- 
pil. Mrs.  Barbauld's  "  Lessons  for  Children  from  three 
to  four  years  old"  have  obtained  a  prescriptive  pre- 
eminence in  the  nursery.  These  are  fit  for  a  child's 
first  attempts  to  read  sentences ;  and  they  go  on  in  easy 
progression  to  such  little  narratives  as  ought  to  follow. 
Her  eloquent  hymns  may  next  be  read.  They  give  an 
early  taste  for  the  subhme  language  and  feelings  of  de- 
votion. Scriptural  stories  have  been  selected  in  some 
little  volumes ;  these  may  succeed  to  Mrs.  Barbauld's 
Hymns.  No  narrative  makes  a  greater  impression  up>on 
the  mind  than  that  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren :  not  the 
stoi-y  of  Joseph,  expanded  and  adorned  by  what  is  falsely 
called  fine  writing :  but  the  history  of  Joseph  in  the 
book  of  Genesis. 

When  children  can  read  fluently,  the  difllculty  is  not 
to  supply  them  with  entertaining  books,  but  to  prevent 
them  from  reading  too  much,  and  indiscriminately.  To 
give  them  only  such  as  cultivate  the  moral  feelings,  and 


ADDRESS    TO    MOTHERS.  ll 

create  a  taste  for  knowledge,  while  they  at  the :  same 
time  amuse  and  interest.  A  few,  and  quite  sufficient  for 
this  purpose,  may  be  named ;  for  instance,  "  Fabulous 
Histories ;"  "  Evenings  at  Home ;"  "  Berquin's  Chil- 
dren's Friend  ;"  "  Saiidford  and  Merton  ;"  "  Little  Jack  ;" 
"The  Children's  Miscellany;"  "Bob  the  Terrier;" 
"Dick  the  Pony;"  "The  Book  of  Trades;"  "The 
Looking-glass,  or  History  of  a  young  Artist ;"  "  Robin- 
son Crusoe  ;"  "  The  Travels  of  Rolando  ;"  a  book  which 
I  mention  with  some  hesitation,  because,  though  it  con- 
tains much  knowledge,  collected  from  various  authors, 
yet  it  is  too  much  mixed  with  fiction.  "  Mrs.  Wake- 
field on  Instinct"  I  name  with  more  confidence,  because 
the  facts  and  the  fiction  are  judiciously  separated ;  so 
that  the  reader  is  in  no  danger  of  mistaking  truth  for 
falsehood.  To  this  juvenile  library,  perhaps,  may  be 
added  parts  of  "  White's  Natural  History  of  Selbourne  ;" 
and  parts  of  "  Smellie's  Philosophy  of  Natural  History." 

These  books  are  not  here  named  in  the  order  in  which 
they  should  be  read  ;  that  must  vary  according  to  the 
tastes  and  capacities  of  the  pupils,  and  according  to  va- 
rious accidental  circumstances  which  it  is  impossible  to 
foresee  or  enumerate.  But  here  it  is  necessary  to  ob- 
serve, that  scarcely  any  one  of  these  books  will  proba- 
bly be  suited  in  every  part  to  any  child.  Children 
should  not  be  forced  to  read  any  book  through,  but  suf- 
fered to  pass  over  what  they  do  not  understand,  and  to 
select  that  which  suits  their  tastes,  which  will  generally 
be  found  to  be  what  they  perfectly  comprehend.  There 
is  no  danger  that  this  permission  should  lead  to  a  taste 
for  desultory  reading,  if  the  pupils  are  confined  to  a  cer- 
tain collection  of  books.  They  will,  at  different  ages, 
and  as  their  knowledge  enlarges,  recur  to  those  parts 
of  the  books  which  they  had  rejected ;  and,  the  taste  for 
reading  increasing,  they  will,  in  time,  become  perfectly 
acquainted  with  every  thing  worth  their  attention  in 
their  juvenile  library. 

For  instance,  that  excellent  work,  "  Evenings  at 
Home,"  contains  lessons  and  narratives  suited  to  dif- 
ferent capacities,  from  seven  or  eight  to  twelve  or  thir- 
teen years  of  age.  It  would  be  highly  injurious  to  the 
work  and  to  the  young  readers  to  insist,  or  even  to  per- 
mit, that  the  whole  should  be  perused  at  an  age  when 
the  whole  cannot  be  understood.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  "  The  Children's  Friend,"  and  of  "  Sandford  and 
Merton,"  the  last  volume  of  which  is  suited  to  young 


18  ADDRESS    TO    MOTHERS. 

men  at  college ;  while  parts  of  the  first  too  are  fit  for 
children  of  seven  or  eight,  and  other  parts  for  ten  or 
twelve  years  old.  In  these  books,  the  selection  may  be 
safely  trusted  to  the  young  readers :  in  others,  the  selec- 
tion must  be  made  by  the  parent  or  teacher ;  for  in- 
stance, in  "  Smellie's  Philosophy  of  Natural  History," 
where  there  will  be  found  many  entertaining  and  in- 
structive facts,  suited  to  children  from  eight  to  ten 
years,  mixed  with  a  great  deal  both  of  what  they  cannot 
understand,  and  of  what  they  ought  not  to  read. 

The  "  Book  of  Trades"  we  have  just  mentioned  as  a 
most  useful  book,  and  it  should  always  precede  Joyce's 
"  Scientific  Dialogues."  Mr.  Joyce  has  contributed 
much  to  the  ease  of  scientific  instruction ;  and  parents 
should  do  the  author  the  justice  not  to  put  his  books 
too  early  into  the  hands  of  children. 

But  no  book  on  scientific  subjects  that  has  yet  fallen 
into  our  hands  exceeds  Mrs.  Marcet's  "  Chymical  Dia- 
logues." Some  of  the  facts  which  it  contains  will  un- 
doubtedly be  remembered  :  but  it  is  not  for  the  chymical 
facts  that  this  book  is  so  highly  valuable,  as  for  the 
clear  and  easy  reasoning  by  which  the  reader  is  led 
from  one  proposition  to  another.  I  speak  from  expe- 
rience :  one  of  my  children  had  early  acquired  such  an 
eager  taste  for  reading,  as  had  filled  her  mind  with  a  mul- 
titude of  facts,  and  images,  and  words,  which  prevented 
her  from  patient  investigation,  and  from  those  habits  of 
thinking  and  that  logical  induction  without  which  no 
science,  nor  any  series  of  truths,  can  be  taught.  The 
"  Chymical  Dialogues"  succeeded  in  giving  a  turn  to 
the  thoughts  of  my  pupil,  which  has  produced  the  most 
salutary  effects  in  her  education.  Romantic  ideas,  po- 
etic images,  and  some  disdain  of  common  occupations, 
seemed  to  clear  away  from  her  mind ;  and  the  chaos  of 
her  thoughts  formed  a  new  and  rational  arrangement. 
The  child  was  ten  years  old  at  the  time  of  which  I 
speak,  and  from  that  period  her  general  application  has 
not  been  diminished ;  but  whatever  she  reads,  poetry, 
liistory,  belles  lettres,  or  science,  every  thing  seems  to 
find  its  proper  place,  and  to  improve  while  it  fills  her 
mind. 

There  is  still  wanting  a  series  of  little  books  prepar- 
atory to  Joyce's  "  Scientific  Dialogues."  No  attempt, 
humble  as  it  may  appear,  requires  more  skill  or  pa- 
tience, nor  could  any  thing  add  more  effectually  to  the 
general  improvement  of  the  infant  understanding,  than 


ADDRESS    TO    MOTHERS.  IB 

snch  a  work.  The  elementary  knowledge  which  such 
books  should  endeavour  to  inculcate,  must  be  thinly 
scattered  in  entertaining  stories;  not  with  a  view  to 
teach  in  play,  but  with  the  hope  of  arresting,  for  a  few 
moments,  that  volatile  attention  which  becomes  tired 
with  sober,  isolated  instruction. 

Some  years  since,  I  wrote  "Poetry  Explained  for 
Children,"  and  I  have  found  it  highly  useful  in  my  own 
family.  It  has  not,  however,  been  much  called  for.  It 
is  therefore  reasonably  to  be  supposed  that  it  has  not 
been  well  executed. 

Such  a  book  is  certainly  wanting ;  and,  if  it  became 
popular,  it  would  be  of  more  service  in  education  than 
parents  are  well  aware  of.  Nothing  is  earlier  taught  to 
children  than  extracts  from  poetry ;  they  are  easily  got 
by  heart.  If  a  child  have  a  tolerable  memory,  a  good 
ear,  and  a  pleasing  voice,  the  parents  are  satisfied,  and 
the  child  is  extolled  for  its  recitation.  Nine  times  out 
of  ten,  the  sense  of  what  is  thus  got  by  rote  is  neg- 
lected or  misunderstood,  and  the  little  actor  acquires 
the  pernicious  habit  of  reading  fluently  and  committing 
to  memory  what  he  does  not  comprehend.  There  is 
still  something  worse  in  this  practice.  The  understand- 
ing is  left  dormant,  while  the  memory  is  too  much 
exercised;  whereas  the  object  most  desirable  is  to 
strengthen  the  memory,  only  by  storing  it  with  useful 
and  accurate  knowledge. 

Parents  are  usually  anxious  to  teach  history  early. 
This  should  not  be  done  at  all,  or  should  be  done  with 
great  caution.  There  are  certain  well-known  volumes 
of  Mrs.  Trimmer's,  with  prints  of  Grecian,  Roman,  and 
English  History,  which  are  useful  to  impress  the  princi- 
pal facts  in  history  on  the  minds  of  children ;  and  we 
have  lately  met  with  some  tiny  volumes,  under  the  name 
of  Alfred  Miles's*  "  Pictures  of  English,  and  of  Roman, 
and  Grecian  History."  The  miniature  prints  in  these  are 
far  superior  to  what  are  usually  met  with  in  such  books  ; 
and  the  language  and  selection  of  the  facts  in  these 
minikin  histories,  are  in  general  excellent.  Abridg- 
ments of  history,  such  as  Cooper's  short  History  of 
England  and  France,  Goldsmith's  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
Lord  Woodhouselee's  excellent  book,  or  any  others, 

*  There  is  an  odd  omission,  which  should  be  noticed,  in  Mr.  Al- 
fred Miles's  tiny  History  of  England — he  omits  the  life,  and  records 
only  the  death,  of  Charles  the  First. 


14  ADDRESS    TO    MOTHERS. 

which  merely  give  the  events,  without  mixture  of  polit- 
ical reflections,  may  be  read  between  the  ages  of  eight 
and  ten ;  but  it  is  absurd  to  put  Hume,  Robertson,  Ma- 
eauley,  Gibbon,  or  any  of  our  philosophical  historians' 
works,  into  the  hands  of  children.  All  that  should  or 
can  be  done  effectually,  is  to  give  the  young  pupils  a 
clear  view  of  the  outline  of  history,  and  to  fix  in  their 
memories  the  leading  facts  in  the  proper  order  of  time. 
For  this  purpose  there  are  several  genealogical  and  his- 
torical charts  that  may  be  useful,  even  at  the  early  age 
of  nine  or  ten ; — Le  Sage's  chart  contains  the  fullest, 
and  "  Stork's  Stream  of  Time'''  by  far  the  clearest  view 
of  chronology  and  history.  There  are  some  careless 
omissions  in  these,  which  will  probably  be  remedied  in 
future  editions.  Priestley's  Charts  of  History  and  of 
Biography  can  never  be  obsolete.  To  me,  his  Chart 
of  History  is  not  so  clear  either  as  Le  Sage  or  as  the 
Stream  of  Time :  but  I  hear,  from  those  whose  judgment 
I  respect,  that  it  conveys  to  their  minds  a  clear  and 
comprehensive  view  of  its  subject. 

For  the  purpose  of  fixing  in  the  minds  of  children  a 
few  of  the  leading  facts  of  history,  chronology,  and 
geography,  I  think  the  technical  help  of  what  is  called 
artificial  memory  may  be  safely  employed.  The  suc- 
cession of  Roman  emperors,  of  English  kings,  the  large 
geographical  divisions  of  the  world,  the  order  of  the 
principal  inventions  and  discoveries — such  as  those  of 
gunpowder,  printing,  and  the  mariner's  compass ;  the 
discovery  of  America,  and  of  the  passage  to  India  by 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  &c.,  may  be  chronologically 
stored  in  the  memory,  without  injury  to  the  under- 
standing. Without  encumbering  the  recoUective  fac- 
ulty, twenty  or  thirty  of  Gray's  memorial  lines  may, 
when  selected,  be  easily  committed  to  memory.  They 
should  be  recited  merely  as  jargon  till  they  are  per- 
fectly learned  by  rote  :  then  the  use  of  the  letters  in  the 
terminations  of  the  words,  which  express  the  dates, 
should  be  explained,  and  the  pupil  should  be  practised 
in  the  use  of  these  :  they  should  be  frequently  referred 
to  in  conversation ;  the  children  should  be  called  upon, 
and  made  ready  in  the  use  of  their  numerical  symbols, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  made  sensible  of  the  advantage 
of  the  knowledge  they  have  thus  acquired. 

Any  farther  than  this,  I  would  avoid  technical  memory. 
Among  the  ancients,  it  might,  in  some  degree,  supply 
the  want  of  printed  books  of  reference  ;  bu>,  in  our  days, 


ADDRESS    TO    MOTHERS.  16 

when  knowledge  of  every  sort  that  has  been  hitherto 
acquired  may  be  immediately  referred  to  in  every  com- 
mon library,  or  in  the  shop  of  every  bookseller,  it 
is  needless  to  load  the  memories  of  children  with  an- 
swers to  every  possible  question  in  geography  and  his- 
tory, and  with  all  such  learning  as  is  to  be  found  in  task- 
hooks. 

Before  I  quit  the  subject,  I  may  be  permitted  to  sug- 
gest to  those  who  are  composing  or  who  intend  to  com- 
pose elementary  books  for  children,  that  what  is  purely 
didactic,  and  all  general  reflections,  ought,  as  much  as 
possible,  to  be  avoided.  Action  should  be  introduced. 
Action!  action!  Whether  in  morals  or  science,  the 
thing  to  be  taught  should  seem  to  arise  from  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  the  little  persons  of  the  drama  are 
placed ;  and  on  the  proper  manner  in  which  this  is  man- 
aged will  depend  the  excellence  and  success  of  initia- 
tory books  for  children.  Entertaining  story  or  natural 
dialogue  induces  the  pupil  to  read;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  unless  some  useful  instruction  be  mixed  with  this 
entertainment,  nothing  but  mere  amusement  will  be 
acceptable,  and  it  will  be  difficult  to  bring  the  attention 
to  fix  itself,  without  dislike,  upon  any  serious  subject. 

In  fact,  early  instruction — I  may  trust  my  own  expe- 
rience in  the  education  of  a  large  family — early  instruc- 
tion depends  more  upon  oral  communication  than  upon 
the  books,  either  <ajA-books  or  books  of  amusement, 
that  can  be  found  for  them,  or  perhaps  that  can  be  writ- 
ten. Books  should  be  used  to  recall,  arrange,  and  im- 
print what  is  learned  by  the  senses  ;  they  will  please  the 
more  when  they  give  back  the  images  that  have  been 
slightly  impressed  upon  the  memory. 

I  know  that  it  is  much  easier  to  point  out  what  is  de- 
sirable, than  to  show  distinctly  the  means  of  accom- 
plishing our  wishes.  How  to  fill  up,  from  day  to  day, 
the  aching  void  in  the  little  breasts  of  children,  is  a 
question  that  cannot  be  easily  solved.  When  I  recom- 
mend teaching  as  much  as  possible  by  oral  instruction, 
I  have  this  grand  difficulty  full  in  my  view  ;  but  I  hope 
to  point  out  that  means  may  be  found  by  which,  in 
some  degree,  it  may  be  obviated.  There  is  scarcely 
any  object  which  a  child  sees  or  touches,  that  may  not 
become  a  subject  for  conversation  and  instruction. 

For  instance,  is  the  mother  dressing  ? — the  things  on 
her  dressing-table  are  objects  of  curiosity  to  the  child. 
The  combs  are  of  different  sorts — horn,  ivory,  box,  and 


16  ADDRESS    TO    MOTHERS. 

tortoise-shell.  How  can  the  horns  of  a  cow  be  made 
flat  so  as  to  be  cut  into  the  shape  of  a  comb  1 — "What  is 
ivory  1  and  where  is  tortoise-shell  to  be  had  1  A  cane- 
bottom  chair  frequently  catches  the  attention  of  a  child 
— it  may  be  made  a  first  lesson  in  weaving.  At  break- 
fast, how  many  objects  for  instruction ! 

The  water  in  a  basin  reflects  the  sun — its  image 
dances  from  place  to  place,  as  the  water  moves.  A 
spoon  reflects  the  face,  distorted  to  a  frightful  length; 
if  turned  in  another  direction,  the  face  becomes  ridicu- 
lously short.  The  steam  rises  from  the  urn — the  top  is 
forced  off  the  tea-um — or  the  water  bursts  from  the 
spout  of  the  teakettle.  The  child  observes  that  the  water 
rises  in  a  lump  of  sugar  that  is  dipped  in  the  tea.  The 
cream  swims  on  the  top  of  the  tea — milk  mixes  with  it 
more  readily  than  cream.  At  dinner,  the  backbone,  and 
fins,  and  gill  of  a  fish,  every  bone  and  joint  of  a  fowl  or 
hare,  or  of  any  joint  of  meat,  afford  subjects  of  remark ; 
and  all  these  things,  though  but  very  little  should  be  said 
of  them  at  one  time,  may  by  degrees  be  made  subser- 
vient not  only  to  amusement,  but  to  the  acquisition  of 
real  knowledge. 

It  is  by  no  means  intended  to  recommend  that  lectures 
should  be  spoken  at  every  meal,  or  that  the  appetites 
of  infants  should  be  made  to  wait  for  an  explanation  of 
whatever  they  feed  upon — it  is  only  suggested,  that  the 
commonest  circumstances  of  life,  and  the  commonest 
objects  that  occur,  may  become  the  means  of  teaching 
useful  facts,  and,  what  is  of  more  consequence,  habits 
of  observation  and  reasoning.  It  will  be  objected, 
that,  although  the  subjects  which  are  here  alluded  to 
are  familiar  and  of  daily  occurrence  in  families  of  all 
ranks,  parents  themselves  are  frequently  not  sufficiently 
capable  of  giving  the  instruction  which  is  required. 

To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  scarcely  any  parents 
are  so  situated  that  they  may  not,  without  effort,  acquire, 
from  time  to  time,  the  little  knowledge  which  they  wish 
to  communicate — at  least  so  far  as  is  requisite  to  excite 
and  support  the  curiosity  of  their  pupils. 

All  this  may  be  easily  effected  by  the  higher  classes 
of  parents,  who  have  leisure  to  attend  to  their  children ; 
and  those  parents  who  have  not  time  themselves  to 
pursue  this  course  of  tuition,  may  find  proper  assistants 
at  no  great  expense.  There  are  in  England  many  per- 
sons who  would  be  suited  to  such  situations — widows, 


ADDRESS    TO    MOTHERS.  17 

and  elderly  unmarried  women,  who  are  above  the  station 
of  ordinary  domestics,  and  yet  are  not  sufficiently  in- 
structed, or  accomplished,  to  become  governesses.  Such 
persons  might  be  employed  to  take  the  early  care  of 
children,  while  the  lower  offices  of  the  nursery-maid 
might  be  performed  by  common,  uneducated  servants. 
No  person  should  daily  or  hourly  converse  with  chil- 
dren, or  should  have  power  over  them,  or  any  share  in 
the  management  of  their  minds,  who  does  not  possess 
good  temper,  and  a  certain  degree  of  good  sense.  Ac- 
complishments, learning,  or  even  much  information,  in 
the  usual  sense  of  the  word,  will  be  unnecessary  for  the 
kind  of  assistants  here  described ;  but  the  habit  of  speak- 
ing good  language,  and  in  a  good  accent,  is  indispensa- 
ble. All  the  knowledge  requisite  for  explaining  com- 
mon objects,  to  children  from  six  to  eight  years  old, 
may  be  gradually  acquired,  as  occasion  calls  for  it 
daily ;  and  good  sense,  with  a  little  practice,  will  soon 
teach  the  teacher  how  to  manage  instruction  in  conversa- 
tion. 

In  families  of  less  affluence,  where  this  subordinate 
governess  or  attendant  cannot  be  afforded,  and  where 
the  mother  cannot  secure  a  friend  to  assist  her,  or  has 
not  an  elder  daughter  to  take  a  part  in  the  care  of  the 
younger  ones,  the  mother  must  give  up  more  of  her 
own  time  to  her  children  than  is  usual  or  agreeable,  or 
else  she  must  send  them  to  school. 

Here  recurs  the  difficulty  of  finding  schools  where 
children  can  be  rationally  taught ;  that  is  to  say,  where 
distinct  and  useful  knowledge  may  be  clearly  conveyed 
to  their  understandings,  without  unnecessary  confine- 
ment, slavish  habits,  or  corporeal  correction.  To  keep 
children  poring  overbooks  that  they  cannot  understand, 
or  casting  up  sums  without  making  them  acquainted 
with  the  reasons  for  the  roles  which  they  mechanically 
follow,  is  aU  that  can  be  expected  from  a  common 
schoolmaster,  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  from  a  com- 
mon school.  Parents  send  young  children  to  school, 
not  only  to  learn  what  is  professed  to  be  taught,  but 
also  to  keep  their  troublesome  infants  out  of  harm's  way. 
Were  the  schoolmaster  ever  so  much  enlightened  or 
ever  so  well  disposed,  he  must  comply  with  the  expec- 
tations of  parents — he  must  keep  his  scholars  apparently 
at  work  for  a  given  number  of  hours,  or  he  cannot  satisfy 
his  employers. 

What  is  to  be  done  1 


18  ADDRESS   TO    MOTHERS. 

The  schoolmaster  must  appear  to  do  as  others  do. 
The  remedy  does  not  Ue  with  the  school,  or  with  the 
schoolmaster,  but  with  the  parents.  Until  parents  are 
convinced  of  the  inefficacy  of  the  present  system, 
things  must  remain  as  they  are.  When  they  are  per- 
suaded that  a  reform  is  necessary,  the  next  thing  is  to 
consider  how  it  can  be  accomplished. 

To  encourage  good  elementary  schools,  more  liberal 
emoluments  must  be  allowed  to  schoolmasters  and  mis- 
tresses. To  effect  this  purpose,  without  raising  the 
present  price  of  schooling,  nothing  more  is  necessary 
than  to  shorten  the  present  enormous  duration  of  school 
hours. 

Two  hours'  attention  is  more  than  sufficient  for  the 
acquirement  of  any  thing  which  a  young  child  ought  to 
learn  in  a  day ;  and  even  these  two  hours  should  be  in- 
terrupted by  a  relaxation  of  at  least  one  third  of  that 
time.  Thus,  four  different  sets  or  classes  of  scholars 
might  be  sent  daily  to  the  same  school,  and  for  each 
class  the  present  prices  should  be  paid ;  so  that  the 
master  might  have  his  salary  considerably  increased, 
without  giving  up  more  of  his  time  than  he  does  at 
present. 

The  numerous  schools  for  early  education  that  are 
establishing  or  that  are  already  established  in  the  me- 
tropolis, and  in  all  the  large  towns  of  England,  will,  if 
they  be  properly  managed,  leave  little  to  be  desired  upoi) 
the  subject  of  education  for  children  between  the  years 
of  seven  and  twelve. 

The  active  modes  of  instruction  which  Bell  and  Lan- 
caster have  introduced,  are  fully  as  advantageous  as  the 
low  price  of  schooling ;  the  children  are  prevented  from 
drowsing  over  their  lessons,  and  their  little  bodies  are 
kept  in  some  degree  of  motion.  Certain  petty  mounte-r 
bankisms  will,  by  degrees,  bek  laid  aside ;  and  the  good 
sense  of  the  excellent  persons  who  give  not  only  their 
money,  but  their  time,  to  the  superintendence  of  such 
establishments,  will  soon  improve  whatever  requires 
emendation. 

A  good  system  for  infant  management,  as  it  relates  to 
the  temper,  the  habits  of  truth,  industry,  cleanliness, 
neatness,  and  to  the  forming  children  to  habits  of  obser^ 
vation,  reasoning,  and  good  sense — objects  of  far  greater 
consequence  than  the  mere  teaching  to  read  and  write, 
or  cast  up  accounts — remains  still  to  be  formed  aiid  eat- 


ADDRESS    TO    MOTHERS.  19 

ecuted.  Such  schools  are  wanted,  both  for  the  mid- 
dling classes  and  for  the  lower  classes  of  the  people  ; 
and  I  apprehend  that  they  cannot  well  be  formed  any 
way  so  well  as  by  actual  experiment. 

Ladies  who  have  leisure  may,  in  the  country,  make 
trials  of  whatever  occurs  to  them  on  this  subject.  The 
occupations  and  plays,  liberty  and  restraint,  rewards  and 
punishments  of  children,  in  those  little  communities  we 
call  schools,  may  thus  be  examined,  and  their  respective 
excellence  and  defects  may  be  compared ;  and,  in  time, 
some  general  results  will  be  established. 

For  such  an  inquiry,  next  to  a  steady  desire  to  be  of 
service,  patient  attention  from  day  to  day  is  what  mu^ 
be  the  most  effectual. 

These  schools  are  what  are  commonly  called  dar»e 
schools. 

A  dame  school,  such  as  may  prepare  children  for 
seminaries  of  a  higher  class,  should,  as  much  as 
possible,  resemble  a  large  private  family,  where  the 
mistress  may  be  considered  as  the  mother.  The  chil- 
dren never  should  be  out  of  the  sight  of  their  mistress, 
and  their  plays  as  well  as  their  tasks  should  be  equally 
an  object  of  her  care.  And  here,  as  in  every  other 
place  of  instruction,  the  hours,  or  rather  the  minutes 
of  labour,  should  be  short,  with  frequent  intermission; 
6o  that  the  habit  of  attention  may  by  degrees  be  in- 
duced, and  may  by  reiteration  be  fortified. 

Much  of  that  useful  enthusiasm  which  animates  all 
classes  of  people  to  encourage  schools  for  young  chil- 
dren, is  owing  to  the  female  sex.  They  have  more 
immediate  opportunities  of  seeing  the  necessity  and 
of  appreciating  the  merit  of  such  schools  ;  their  leisure 
permits  them  to  inspect  more  minutely  establishments 
of  this  sort :  and  their  acquaintance  with  the  early  pro- 
pensities and  habits  of  children  enables  them  to  direct 
successfully  their  instruction ;  and  it  maybe  reasonably 
hoped  that,  under  their  care,  dame  schools,  with  mis- 
tresses judiciously  chosen,  may  be  established  wher- 
ever they  are  wanting.  Another  generation  will  reap 
the  advantages  of  what  has  been  begun  in  this ;  and 
teachers  of  both  sexes,  and  of  various  degrees  of  in- 
formation, will  hereafter  be  procured  with  ease ;  and 
elementary  schools  will  be  established  in  every  part  of 
Great  Britain.  -  B.  L.  E. 


.:</:/-sT 


FRANK, 

There  was  a  little  boy  whose  name  was  Frank,  He 
had  a  father  and  a  mother  who  were  very  kind  to  him  ; 
and  he  loved  them :  he  liked  to  talk  to  them,  and  he 
liked  to  walk  with  them,  and  he  liked  to  be  with  them. 
He  Uked  to  do  what  they  asked  him  to  do  ;  and  he  took, 
care  not  to  do  what  they  desired  him  not  to  do.>:  When 
his  father  or  mother  said  to  him,  "  Frank,  shut  the  door," 
he  ran  directly,  and  shut  the  door.  When  they  said  to 
him,  "  Frank,  do  not  touch  that  knife,"  he  took  his 
hands  away  from  the  knife,  and  did  not  touch  it.  He 
was  an  obedient  little  boy. 

One  evening,  when  his  father  and  mother  were  drink- 
ing tea,  he  was  sitting  under  the  tea-table :  and  he  took 
hold  of  one  of  the  legs  of  the  table ;  and  he  tried  to  pull 
it  towards  himself;  but  he  could  not  move  it.  He  took 
hold  of  another  leg  of  the  table,  and  he  found  that  he 
could  not  move  it ;  but  at  last  he  took  hold  of  one  which 
he  found  that  he  could  move  very  easily ;  for  this  le^ 
turned  upon  a  hinge,  and  was  not  fixed,  like  the  other 
legs.  As  he  was  drawing  this  leg  of  the  table  towards 
him,  his  mother  said  to  him  "  Frank,  what  are  you 
doing  ?" 

And  he  answered,  "  Mamma,  I  am  playing  with  the 
leg  of  the  table." 

And  his  mother  said,  "  What  do  you  mean  by  saying 
that  you  are  playing  with  the  leg  of  the  table  ?" 

And  Frank  said,  "  I  mean  that  I  am  pulling  it  towards 
me,  mamma." 

And  his  mother  said,  "  Let  it  aione,  my  dear." 

And  Frank  took  his  hands  away  from  the  leg  of  the 
table,  and  he  let  it  alone,  and  he  came  from  under  the 
.table ;  and  he  got  up,  and  stood  beside  his  mother :  and 
he  said,  "  Mamma,  I  come  away  from  the  leg  of  the 
table,  that  I  may  not  think  of  touching  it  any  more :" 
and  his  father  and  mother  smiled. 

And  Frank  said,  "  But,  mother,  will  you  tell  me  why 
you  bid  me  let  it  alone  V 

^^  Yes,  I  will,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother ;  and  she  then 


22  FRANK. 

moved  some  of  the  teacups  and  saucers  to  another 
table :  and  Frank's  father  put  the  tea-urn  upon  another 
table ;  and  tJien  Frank's  mother  said  to  him,  "  Now,  my 
dear  Frank,  go  and  push  the  leg  of  the  table  as  you  did 
before." 

And  Frank  pushed  the  leg  of  the  table  ;  and  when  he 
had  pushed  it  a  little  way,  he  stopped,  and  looked  up  at 
his  mother,  and  said,  "  1  see  part  of  the  top  of  the  table 
moving  down  towards  my  head,  mamma;  and  if  I  push 
this  leg  any  farther  back,  1  am  afraid  that  part  of  the 
table  will  fall  down  upon  my  head  and  hurt  me." 

"  I  will  hold  up  this  part  of  the  table,  which  is  called 
the  /ea/,"  said  his  mother ;  "  and  I  will  not  let  it  fall  down 
upon  your  head.  Pull  the  leg  of  the  table  back  as  far 
as  you  can."  And  Frank  did  as  his  mother  desired 
him ;  and  when  he  had  pulled  it  back  as  far  as  he  could, 
his  mother  bid  him  come  from  under  the  table ;  and  he 
did  so  ;  and  she  said,  "  Stand  beside  me,  and  look  what 
happens  when  I  let  go  this  leaf  of  the  table  which  1  am 
now  holding." 

And  Frank  said,  "  I  know  what  will  happen,  I  believe, 
mamma :  it  will  fall ;  for,  now  that  I  have  pulled  back 
the  leg,  there  is  nothing  to  hold  it  up  but  your  hand." 

Then  his  mother  took  away  her  hand,  and  the  leaf  of 
the  table  fell :  and  Frank  put  his  hand  upon  his  head,  and 
said,  "  O  mamma,  that  would  have  hurt  me  very  much 
if  it  had  fallen  upon  my  head — I  am  glad  I  was  not  un- 
der the  table  when  the  leaf  fell — and  now  I  beheve  I 
know  the  reason,  mamma,  why  you  asked  me  not  to 
meddle  with  that  leg  of  the  table  :  because  the  leaf  (is 
not  that  the  name  you  told  me?)  the  leaf  would  have 
fallen  upon  my  head,  and  would  have  hurt  me.  Was  not 
that  the  reason,  mamma  V 

"  That  was  one  reason ;  but  I  had  some  other  reasons. 
Try  if  you  can  find  out  what  they  were,  Frank,"  said  his 
mother. 

And  Frank  looked  at  the  table  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  answered,  "  I  don't  know  any  other  reasons,  mam- 
ma;" but  as  he  was  saying  these  words,  he  saw  his 
mother  turn  her  head  towards  the  table  upon  which  she 
had  put  the  cups  and  saucers. 

"  Oh,  now,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  I  know  what  you 
mean.  If  those  cups  and  saucers  had  been  upon  this 
leaf  of  the  table,  they  would  have  slid  down  when  it  fell, 
.  UDii  they  would  have  been  broken.    And  the  um,  too, 


FRANK.  2^ 

mamma,  would  have  come  tumbling  down ;  and  perhaps 
the  top  of  ijje  urn  would  have  come  off;  and  then  all  the 
hot  water  would  have  come  running  out,  and  would  hav6 
wet  the  room,  and  would  have  scalded  me  if  I  had  been 
under  it.  I  am  very  glad,  mamma,  that  I  did  as  you 
t)id  me." 


One  day  Frank's  mother  took  him  out  to  walk  with 
her  in  the  fields ;  and  he  saw  flowers  of  di'iferent  col- 
ours, blue,  red,  yellow,  and  purple  ;  and  he  asked  his 
mother  whether  he  might  gather  some  of  these  flowers: 

She  answered,  "  Yes,  my  dear :  you  may  gather  as 
many  of  these  flowers  as  you  please." 

Then  Frank  ran  and  gathered  several  flowers ;  and 
in  one  corner  of  this  field,  upon  a  bank,  he  saw  some 
blue-bells ;  and  he  liked  blue-bells ;  and  he  ran  and 
gathered  them ;  and  in  the  next  field  he  saw  a  great 
number  of  purple  flowers,  which  he  thought  looked  very 
pretty ;  and  he  got  over  the  stile,  and  went  into  the  next 
field,  and  went  close  up  to  the  purple  flowers ;  they  had 
yellow  in  the  middle  of  them ;  and  they  grew  upon  a 
plant  which  had  a  great  number  of  green  leaves. 

As  Frank  was  pulling  some  of  the  purple  flowers  he 
shook  the  green  leaves ;  and  he  saw  among  them  sev- 
eral little  green  balls,  which  looked  like  very  small 
apples.  Frank  wished  to  taste  them ;  and  he  was  just 
going  to  pull  one  from  the  stalk,  when  he  recollected 
that  his  mother  had  not  given  him  leave  to  have  them ; 
and  he  ran  back  to  his  mother,  and  said,  "  Mamma,  may 
I  have  some  of  those  nice  little  apples  1"  and  he  pointed 
to  the  plants  on  which  the  purple  flowers  grew. 

His  mother  answered,  "  1  do  not  see  any  apples,  my 
dear." 

"  You  will  see  them,  mamma,  if  you  will  come  a 
little  closer  to  them,"  said  Frank ;  and  he  took  his 
mother  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  to  the  plants,  and 
showed  her  the  little  green  balls  which  he  thought  were 
apples. 

"  My  dear  little  boy,"  said  his  mother,  "  these  are  not 
apples ;  these  things  are  not  good  to  be  eaten ;  they  are 
poisonous ;  they  would  have  made  you  sick  if  you  had 
eaten  them." 

♦'  I  am  glad,"  said  Frank,  "  that  I  did  not  taste  them. 
But  may  I  have  one  of  them  for  a  ball  T' 


Z4  FRANK. 

"  No,  my  deaFy"^  said  his  mother,  "^  do  not  meddle  Trith 
any  of  them." 

Frank  walked  on  in  the  path  beside  bis  nwther ;  and 
he  did  not  meddle  with  any  of  the  little  green  balls. 
And  he  saw  at  a  little  distance  from  him  a  boy  who 
was  digging ;  and  when  he  came  near  to  this  boy,  Frank 
saw  that  he  was  digging  up  some  of  the  plants  that  bore 
the  pretty  purple  flowers ;.  and  Frank  said,  "  Mamma, 
why  does  this  boy  dig  t»p  these  things  l — Is  he  going  to 
throw  them  away  ?" 

And  Frank's  mother  said^ "  Look,  and  you  will  see 
what  part  of  them  he  keeps,  and  what  part  of  them  he 
throws  away." 

And  Frank  looked ;  and  he  saw  that  the  boy  pulled 
eff  some  of  the  brown  and  white  round  roots  of  the  plant; 
and  he  put  these  roots  into  a  basket.  The  green  part 
of  the  plant,  and  the  purple  flowers,  and  the  green  balls, 
which  Frank  mistook  for  apples^  he  saw  that  the  boy 
threw  away. 

^    And  Frank  said  to  his  mother,  "  What  are  those  roots 
in  the  basket?" 

His  mother  said,  "  Look  at  them  ;  and  try  if  you  can 
find  out — you  hare  eaten  roots  like  them — you  often 
Bee  roots  like  these  at  dinner." 

>  "  I  do  not  remember,"  said  Frank,  "ever  having  seen 
such  dirty  things  as  these  at  dinner." 

►  "  They  are  washed  and  boiled  before  you  see  them  at 
dinner ;  and  then  they  look  white,"  said  his  mother. 

Frank  looked  again  at  the  roots  which  were  in  the 
basket ;  and  he  said,  "  Mamma,  1  think  they  are  pota- 
toes." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  they  are  potatoes,"  said  his  mother ; 
and  then  Frank  and  his  mother  went  on  a  little  farther, 
and  they  came  to  a  large  shady  tree  ;  and  Frank's  mother 
sat  dov/n  upon  a  bank  under  the  shade  of  this  tree,  to 
cool  and  rest  herself;  for  she  was  hot  and  tired. 

Frank  was  not  tired ;  therefore  he  did  not  sit  down : 
but  he  amused  himself  with  trying  to  reach  some  of  the 
branches  of  the  tree  which  hung  over  his  head. 

He  jumped  up  as  high  as  he  could  to  catch  them  ;  but 
he  found  that  several,  which  he  thought  he  could  reach, 
he  could  not  touch,  even  when  he  stretched  out  his 
hand  and  arm,  and  stood  on  tiptoe. 

At  last,  he  saw  a  bough  which  hung  lower  than  the 
other  boughs  ;  and  he  jumped  up,  and  caught  hold  of  it ; 


FRANK.  S5 

and  he  held  it  down,  that  he  might  look  at  the  leaves  of 
the  tree. 

"  Mamma,"  said  he,  "  these  leaves  are  not  like  the 
leaves  of  the  tree  which  is  near  the  hall-door  at  home 
— you  told  me  the  name  of  that  tree :  that  tree  is  called 
a  beech.     "What  is  the  name  of  this  tree  V 

"  This  tree  is  called  a  horsechestnut-tree." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  here  are  little  green  balls 
upon  this  tree ;  they  are  something  like  those  I  saw 
upon  the  potatoes — I  won't  meddle  with  them :  they 
have  prickles  upon  them." 

And  Frank's  mother  said,  "  You  may  gather  some  of 
these  little  balls,  my  dear ;  these  are  not  of  the  same 
sort  as  those  you  saw  on  the  potato-plants.  These 
are  not  poisonous :  these  are  called  horsechestnuts — the 
prickles  are  not  very  sharp — you  may  break  them  off." 

'*  How  many  of  these  horsechestnuts  may  I  gather, 
mamma  V  said  Frank. 

"  You  may  gather  four  of  them,  my  dear,"  said  his 
mother ;  and  Frank  gathered  four  of  the  horsechestnuts 
— then  he  let  go  the  bough ;  and  he  sat  down  upon  the 
bank  beside  his  mother,  to  examine  his  horsechestnuts. 
His  mother  broke  one  of  them  open  for  him — the  inside 
of  the  green  husk  was  white  and  soft ;  and  in  the  mid- 
dle of  this  white,  soft  substance,  there  lay  a  smooth, 
shining  kernel,  of  the  colour  of  mahogany. 

"Is  it  good  to  eat,  mamma V  said  Frank — "may  I 
taste  it  r' 

"  You  may  taste  it,  if  you  please,  my  dear,"  said  his 
mother,  "but  I  do  not  think  that  you  will  like  it,  for 
that  brown  skin  has  a  bitter  taste ;  and  I  do  not  think 
the  inside  of  it  is  agreeable ;  but  you  may  taste  it,  if 
you  like  it." 

Frank  tasted  it,  and  he  did  not  like  the  bitter  of  the 
outside ;  and  he  said,  "  Mamma,  I  will  always  take  care 
to  ask  you,  before  I  meddle  with  things  or  taste  them, 
because  you  know  more  than  I  do  :  and  you  can  tell  me 
whether  they  are  good  for  me  or  not." 

Frank's  mother  having  now  rested  herself,  got  up  from 
her  seat ;  and  she  walked  home  ;  and  Frank  carried  his 
three  horsechestnuts  home  with  him — he  did  not  put 
them  into  his  mouth,  because  he  had  learned  that  they 
tasted  bitter ;  but  he  used  them  as  balls,  and  he  rolled 
them  along  the  floor  when  he  got  into  the  house  ;  and 
he  was  very  happy  playing  with  them. 
3  B 


26  FRANK. 


Another  day,  Frank  went  out  to  walk  with  his  moth- 
er, and  he  came  to  a  gate  that  was  painted  green ;  and 
he  slopped  at  the  gate,  and  looked  between  the  rails  of 
it :  and  he  saw  a  pretty  garden,  with  several  beds  of 
flowers  in  it ;  and  there  were  nice  clean  gravel-walks 
between  these  flower-beds,  and  all  round  the  garden — 
and  against  the  walls  of  the  garden  there  were  plum- 
trees  and  cherry-trees ;  and  the  cherries  and  plums 
looked  as  if  they  were  quite  ripe. 

And  Frank  called  to  his  mother,  who  was  a  little  way 
off";  and  he  said,  "  Mamma,  come  and  look  at  this  pretty 
garden — I  wish  I  might  open  this  gate,  and  go  in  and 
walk  in  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  you  must  not  open  the 
gate — this  garden  does  not  belong  to  me ;  and  I  cannot 
give  you  leave  to  walk  in  it." 

There  was  a  man  nailing  up  a  net  over  a  cherry-tree 
in  this  garden  :  and  he  came  to  the  gate,  and  opened  it, 
and  said,  "  Will  you  walk  in,  ma'am  ?  This  garden 
belongs  to  me ;  and  you  shall  be  very  welcome  to  walk 
in  it."  And  Frank's  mother  thanked  the  man  ;  and  she 
then  turned  to  Frank,  and  said,  "  If  I  take  you  with  me, 
Frank,  to  walk  in  this  garden,  you  must  take  care  not 
to  meddle  with  any  thing  in  it."  And  Frank  said  that 
he  would  not  meddle  with  any  thing  in  the  garden  ;  and 
his  mother  took  him  into  it. 

As  he  walked  along  the  gravel-walks,  he  looked  at 
every  thing :  but  he  did  not  touch  any  thing. 

A  very  sweet  smell  came  from  two  beds  of  pinks  and 
carnations ;  and  he  stood  at  a  httle  distance  from  them, 
looking  at  them ;  and  the  man  to  whom  the  garden 
belonged  said  to  hira,  "  Walk  down  this  narrow  path, 
master,  between  the  beds,  and  you'll  see  my  carnations 
better." 

And  Frank  answered,  "  I  should  like  to  come  dowa 
that  narrow  path ;  but  I  am  afraid  of  coming,  because 
the  skirts  of  my  coat,  I  am  afraid,  will  brush  against 
the  flowers — 1  saw  your  coat,  just  now,  sir,  hit  against 
the  top  of  a  flower;  and  it  broke  it." 

Frank's  mother  smiled,  and  said,  "  I  am  glad,  my 
dear  little  boy,  that  you  are  so  careful  not  to  do  mis- 
chief." 

Frank  did  not  tread  upon  any  of  the  borders ;  and  the 
person  to  whom  the  garden  belonged,  who  was  a  gar- 


FRANK.  527 

dener,  said  to  his  mother,  "  I  hope,  whenever  you  como 
this  way  again,  ma'am,  you'll  walk  in  this  garden  of 
mine,  and  bring  this  little  gentleman  with  you  ;  for  I  atu 
sure,  by  what  1  see  of  him  now,  that  he  will  not  do  me 
any  mischief."  • 

The  gardener  told  Frank  the  names  of  several  flow- 
ers, and  he  showed  him  the  seeds  of  some  of  these 
flowers  ;  and  he  showed  Frank  how  these  seeds  should 
be  sowed  in  the  ground. 

And  while  the  gardener  was  showing  Frank  how  to 
sow  the  seeds  of  the  mignionette,  he  heard  a  noise  at  the 
gate ;  and  he  looked,  and  he  saw  a  boy  who  was  sha- 
king the  gate,  and  trying  to  get  in ;  but  the  gate  was 
locked,  and  the  boy  could  not  open  it ;  and  the  boy 
called  to  the  gardener,  and  said,  *'  Let  me  in ;  let  me  in 
— won't  you  let  me  in  1" 

But  the  gardener  answered,  "  No — I  will  not  let  yoa 
come  in,  sir,  I  assure  you ;  for  when  I  did  let  you  in 
yesterday,  you  meddled  with  my  flowers,  and  you  ate 
some  of  my  cherries.  I  do  not  choose  to  let  you  in 
here  again — I  do  not  choose  to  let  a  dishonest  boy  into 
my  garden,  who  meddles  with  what  does  not  belong  to 
him." 

This  boy  looked  very  much  ashamed  and  very  sorry 
that  he  might  not  come  into  the  pretty  garden ;  and  he 
stood  at  the  gate  for  some  time ;  but,  when  he  found 
that  the  gardener  would  not  let  him  in,  he  went  slowly 
away. 

A  little  while  afterward,  Frank  asked  his  mother  why 
she  did  not  gather  some  of  the  pinks  in  this  garden; 
and  his  mother  answered,  "  Because  they  are  not  mine ; 
and  1  must  not  med(Ue  with  what  does  not  belong  to 
me." 

"  I  did  not  know,  till  now,  mamma,"  said  Frank, 
•'  that  you  must  not  meddle  with  what  does  not  belong 
to  you — I  thought  that  people  only  said  to  little  boys, 
yoM  must  not  meddle  with  what  does  not  belong  to  you." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Frank's  mother,  "  neither  men,  nor 
women,  nor  children,  should  meddle  with  what  does  not 
belong  to  them — little  children  do  not  know  this  till  it  is 
told  to  them." 

"And,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "what  is  the  reason 
that  men,  women,  and  children  should  not  meddle  with 
what  does  not  belong  to  them  ?" 

Frank's  mother  answered,  "  I  cannot  explain  all  the 
B2 


28  FRANK. 

) 

reasons  to  you  yet,  my  dear — but  should  you  like  that 
anybody  should  take  flowers  out  of  the  little  garden 
you  have  at  home  1" 

"  No,  mamma,  I  should  not." 

"And  did  not  you  see  that  the  boy  who  just  now 
came  to  this  green  gate,  was  prevented  by  the  gardener 
from  coming  into  this  garden,  because,  yesterday,  the 
boy  took  flowers  and  fruit  which  did  not  belong  to 
him.  You,  Frank,  have  not  meddled  with  any  of  these 
flowers,  or  this  fruit ;  and,  you  know,  the  gardener  said 
that  he  would  let  you  come  in  here  again  whenever  I 
like  to  bring  you  with  me." 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that,  mamma,"  said  Frank ;  "  for 
I  like  to  walk  in  this  pretty  garden ;  and  I  will  take  care 
not  to  meddle  with  any  thing  that  does  not  belong  to  me." 

Then  Frank's  mother  said,  "  It  is  time  that  we  should 
go  home."  And  Frank  thanked  the  gardener  for  letting 
him  walk  in  his  garden,  and  for  showing  him  how  to 
sow  seeds  in  the  ground ;  and  Frank  went  home  with 
his  mother. 


A  FEW  days  after  Frank  had  been  with  his  mother  to 
walk  in  the  garden  that  had  the  green  gate,  his  mother 
said  to  him,  "  Frank,  put  on  your  hat,  and  come  with 
me — I  am  going  to  the  garden  in  which  we  walked  two 
or  three  days  ago." 

Frank  was  very  glad  to  hear  this — he  put  on  his  hat 
in  an  instant,  and  followed  his  mother,  jumping  and 
singing  as  he  went  along. 

When  they  were  in  the  fields  which  led  to  the  garden 
with  the  green  gate,  Frank  ran  on  before  his  mother — 
he  came  to  a  stile ;  a  boy  of  about  Frank's  size  was 
sitting  upon  the  uppermost  step  of  the  stile.  He  had  a 
hat  upon  his  knees,  in  which  there  were  some  nuts ; 
and  the  boy  was  picking  the  white  kernel  of  a  nut  out 
of  its  shell. 

i     When  the  boy  saw  Frank,  he  said  to  him,  "  Do  you 
want  to  get  over  this  stile  V 

And  Frank  answered,  "  Yes,  I  do." 

The  boy  then  got  up  from  the  step  of  the  stile  on 
which  he  was  sitting ;  and  he  jumped  down  and  walked 
on,  that  he  might  make  room  for  Frank  to  get  over  the 
stile. 

Frank  and  his  mother  got  over  the  stile  ;  and,  in  the 


PRANK.  119 

path  in  the  next  field,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  stile, 
Frank  saw  a  fine  bunch  of  nuts. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  I  think  these  nuts  belong  to 
that  little  boy  who  was  sitting  upon  the  stile,  with  nuts 
in  his  hat ;  perhaps  he  dropped  them  and  did  not  know 
it — may  I  pick  them  up  and  run  after  the  little  boy,  and 
give  them  to  him  1" 

His  mother  said,  "  Yes,  my  dear,  and  I  will  go  back 
with  you  to  the  boy."  So  Frank  picked  up  the  nuts ; 
and  he  and  his  mother  went  back  ;  and  he  called  to  the 
little  boy,  who  stopped  when  he  heard  him  call. 

And  as  soon  as  Frank  came  near  to  him,  and  had 
breath  to  speak,  he  said  to  the  boy,  "  Here  are  some 
nuts,  which  I  believe  are  yours — 1  found  them  in  the 
path  near  that  stile." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  boy ;  "  they  are  mine — I  drop- 
ped them  there ;  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  bring- 
ing them  back  to  me." 

Frank  saw  that  the  boy  was  glad  to  have  his  nuts 
again ;  and  Frank  was  glad  that  he  had  found  them,  and 
that  he  had  returned  them  to  the  person  to  whom  they 
belonged. 

Frank  then  went  on  with  his  mother ;  and  they  came 
to  the  garden  with  the  green  gate.  The  gardener  was 
tying  the  pinks  and  carnations  to  white  sticks,  which  he 
stuck  in  the  ground  near  them.  He  did  this  to  prevent 
the  flowers  from  hanging  down  in  the  dirt,  and  being 
broken  by  the  wind. 

Frank  told  his  mother  that  he  thought  he  could  tie 
up  some  of  these  flowers,  and  that  he  should  like  to  try 
to  do  it. 

She  asked  the  gardener  if  he  would  let  Frank  try  to 
help  him. 

The  gardener  said  he  would ;  and  he  gave  Frank  a 
bundle  of  sticks,  and  some  strings  made  of  bass  mat : 
and  Frank  stuck  the  sticks  in  the  ground,  and  tied  the 
pinks  and  carnations  to  them ;  and  he  said,  "  Mamma, 
I  am  of  some  use ;"  and  he  was  happy  while  he  was 
employed  in  this  manner. 

After  the  flowers  were  all  tied  up,  the  gardener  went 
to  the  cherry-tree,  which  was  nailed  up  against  the 
wall;  and  he  took  down  the  net  which  was  spread 
over  it. 

Frank  asked  his  mother  why  this  net  had  been  spread 
.  'erit. 


'30  FRANK- 

She  told  him  that  it  was  to  prevent  the  birds  from 
pecking  at  and  eating  the  cherries. 

The  cherries  looked  very  ripe,  and  the  gardener  began 
to  gather  them. 

Frank  asked  whether  he  might  help  him  to  gather 
some  of  the  cherries. 

His  mother  said, "  Yes !  I  think  the  gardener  will  trust 
you  to  gather  his  cherries,  because  he  has  seen  that 
you  have  not  meddled  with  any  of  his  things  without 
his  leave." 

The  gardener  said  that  he  would  trust  him;  and 
Frank  was  glad ;  and  he  gathered  all  the  cherries  that 
he  could  reach  that  were  ripe. 

The  gardener  desired  that  he  would  not  gather  any 
that  were  not  ripe  ;  and  his  mother  showed  Frank  a  ripe 
and  an  unripe  cherry,  that  he  might  know  the  difference 
between  them :  and  she  asked  the  gardener  if  he  would 
let  Frank  taste  these  two  cherries,  that  he  might  know 
the  difference  in  the  taste. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  the  gardener ;  and  Frank 
tasted  the  cherries,  and  he  found  that  the  ripe  cherry 
was  sweet,  and  the  unripe  cherry  sour. 

The  gardener  told  him  that  the  cherries  which  were 
now  unripe  would  grow  ripe  in  a  few  days,  if  they 
were  let  to  hang  upon  the  tree,  and  if  the  sun  shone. 

And  Frank  said,  "  Mamma,  if  you  let  me  come  with 
you  here  again  in  a  few  days,  I  will  look  at  those  cher- 
ries, that  I  may  see  whether  Ihey  do  grow  ripe." 

Frank  took  care  to  gather  only  the  cherries  that  were 
ripe  ;  and  when  he  had  filled  the  basket  into  which  the 
gardener  asked  him  to  put  them,  the  gardener  picked 
out  five  or  six  bunches  of  the  ripest  cherries,  and  he 
offered  them  to  Frank. 

*'  May  1  have  them,  mamma  V  said  Frank. 

His  mother  said,  "  Yes,  you  may,  my  dear." 

Then  he  took  them ;  and  he  thanked  the  gardener  for 
giving  them  to  him ;  and,  after  this,  he  and  his  mother 
left  the  garden  and  returned  towards  home. 

He  asked  his  mother  to  eat  some  of  the  cherries; 
and  she  took  one  bunch,  and  she  said  that  she  liked 
them. 

"  And  I  will  keep  another  bunch  for  papa,"  said  Frank, 
"  because  I  know  he  likes  cherries." 

And  Frank  ate  all  the  rest  of  the  cherries,  except  the 
bunch  which  he  kept  for  his  father;  and  he  said,  "I 


FRANK.  <81 

wish,  mother,  you  would  give  me  a  little  garden,  and 
some  mignionette-seeds  to  sow  in  it." 

She  answered,  "  This  is  not  the  time  of  year  in  which 
mignionette-seed  should  be  sown;  the  seeds  will  not 
grow  if  you  sow  them  now.    We  must  wait  till  spring." 

Frank  was  going  to  say,  "  How  many  months  wiU  it 
be  between  this  time  and  spring  T"  but  he  forgot  what  he 
was  going  to  say,  because  he  saw  a  boy  in  the  field  in 
which  they  were  walking,  who  had  something  made  of 
white  paper  in  his  hand,  which  was  fluttering  in  the 
wind. 

"  What  is  that,  mamma  ■?"  said  Frank. 

"  It  is  a  paper  kite,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother ;  "  you 
shall  see  the  boy  flying  this  kite,  if  you  please." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  flying  the  kite, 
mamma,"  said  Frank. 

"  Look  at  what  the  boy  is  doing,  and  you  will  see." 

Frank  looked,  and  he  saw  the  paper  kite  blown  by  the 
wind ;  and  it  mounted  up  higher  than  the  trees,  and  went 
higher  and  higher,  till  it  seemed  to  touch  the  clouds, 
and  till  it  appeared  no  larger  than  a  little  black  spot ; 
and  at  last  Frank  lost  sight  of  it  entirely. 

The  boy  who  had  been  flying  the  kite  now  ran  up  to 
the  place  where  Frank  was  standing,  and  Frank  saw 
that  he  was  the  same  boy  to  whom  he  had  returned 
the  nuts. 

The  boy  held  one  end  of  a  string  in  his  hand ;  and  the 
other  end  of  the  string,  Frank's  mother  told  him,  was 
fastened  to  the  kite. 

The  boy  pulled  the  string  towards  him,  and  wound  it 
up  on  a  bit  of  wood ;  and  Frank  saw  the  paper  kite  again 
coming  downwards ;  and  it  fell  lower,  and  lower,  and 
lower,  and  at  last  it  fell  to  the  ground. 

The  boy  to  whom  it  belonged  went  to  fetch  it ;  and 
Frank's  mother  said,  "  Now  we  must  make  haste  and 
go  home." 

Frank  followed  his  mother,  asking  her  several  ques- 
tions about  the  kite ;  and  he  did  not  perceive  that  he  had 
not  his  bunch  of  cherries  in  his  hand  till  he  was  near 
home — when  his  mother  said,  "There  is  your  father 
coming  to  meet  us."  Frank  cried,  "O  mamma!  my 
cherries,  the  nice  bunch  of  cherries  that  I  kept  to  give 
him — I  have  dropped  them — I  have  lost  them — I  am 
very  sorry  for  it — May  I  run  back  to  look  for  them  1 — 
I  think  I  dropped  them  while  I  was  looking  at  the  kite- 
May  I  go  back  to  that  field  and  look  for  them  1" 


32  PRANK. 

**  No,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother ;  "  it  is  just  dimier- 
time." 

Frank  was  sorry  for  this ;  and  he  looked  back  towards 
the  field  where  he  lost  his  cherries,  and  he  saw  the  boy 
with  the  kite  in  his  hand  rumiing  very  fast  across  the 
field  nearest  to  him. 

"  I  think  he  seems  to  be  running  to  us,  mamma,"  said 
Frank — *^  will  you  wait  one  minute  1" 

His  mother  stopped,  and  the  boy  ran  up  to  them  quite 
out  of  breath.  He  held  his  kite  in  one  hand  ;  and  in  his 
other  hand  he  held  Frank's  bunch  of  cherries. 

"  Oh,  my  cherries !  thank  you  for  bringing  them  to 
me,"  said  Frank. 

"  You  seem  to  be  as  glad  as  I  was  when  you  brought 
me  my  nuts,"  said  the  boy — "  you  dropped  the  cherries 
in  the  field  where  I  was  flying  my  kite — I  knew  they 
were  yours,  because  I  saw  them  in  your  hand  when  you 
were  looking  at  my  kite." 

Frank  thanked  the  boy  again  for  returning  them  to 
him  ;  and  his  mother  also  said  to  the  boy,  "  Thank  you, 
my  little  honest  boy." 

"  I  was  honest,  mamma,  when  I  returned  his  nuts  to 
him  ;  and  he  was  honest  when  he  returned  my  cherries 
— I  liked  him  for  being  honest ;  and  he  liked  me  for 
being  honest — I  will  always  be  honest  about  every  thing, 
as  well  as  about  nuts."  Then  Frank  ran  to  meet  his 
father,  with  the  ripe  bunch  of  cherries,  and  gave  them 
to  him ;  and  his  father  liked  them  very  much. 


The  evening  after  Frank  had  seen  the  boy  flying  a 
kite,  he  asked  his  father  if  he  would  be  so  good  as  to 
give  him  a  kite. 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  father,  "  I  am  busy  now ;  I  am 
writing  a  letter;  and  I  cannot  think  about  kites  now — 
do  not  talk  to  me  about  kites  when  I  am  busy." 

When  his  father  had  finished  writing  his  letter,  he 
folded  it  up,  and  took  up  some  sealing-wax  to  seal  it ; 
and  Frank  watched  the  sealing-wax,  as  it  was  melted 
by  the  heat  of  the  candle.  He  saw  that  his  father  let 
some  of  the  melted  sealing-wax  drop  upon  the  paper ; 
and  then  he  pressed  the  seal  down  upon  the  wax  which 
had  dropped  upon  the  paper,  and  which  was  then  soft. 
J      When  the  seaJ  was  taken  up,  Frank  saw  that  there 


FRANK.  (38 

was  the  figure  of  the  head  of  a  man  upon  the  wax ;  and 
he  looked  at  the  bottom  of  the  seal,  and  he  said,  "  This 
is  the  same  head  that  there  is  upon  the  wax,  only  this 
on  the  seal  goes  inward,  and  that  on  the  wax  comes 
outward." 

He  touched  the  wax  upon  which  the  seal  had  been 
pressed :  and  he  felt  that  it  was  now  cold  and  hard ;  and 
he  said,  "  Papa,  are  you  busy  now  V 

And  his  father  said  that  he  was  not  busy. 

And  Frank  asked  him  if  he  would  drop  some  more 
wax  on  a  bit  of  paper,  and  press  the  seal  down  upon  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  father :  "  you  were  not  troublesome 
to  me  when  I  said  that  I  was  busy.  Now  I  have  leisure 
to  attend  to  you,  my  dear." 

His  father  then  took  out  of  a  drawer  three  different 
seals ;  and  he  sealed  three  different  letters  with  these, 
and  let  Frank  see  him  drop  the  wax  upon  the  paper, 
and  let  Frank  press  down  the  seals  upon  the  soft  wax. 

"  Papa,  will  you  give  me  leave  to  try  if  I  can  do  it 
myself?"  said  Frank. 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  do  not  like  that  you 
should  meddle  with  candles  or  with  fire,  lest  you  should 
set  your  clothes  on  fire  and  burn  yourself,  as  many 
children  of  your  age  have  done,  when  no  one  has  been 
present  to  help  them." 

"  But,  papa,"  said  Frank,  "  I  never  meddle  with  can- 
dles or  fire  when  you  or  mamma  are  not  in  the  room." 

"  Then  now  we  are  present  you  may  try  what  you 
wish  to  do;  but  I  advise  you  to  take  care,"  said  his 
mother,  "  not  to  let  any  of  the  melted  wax  drop  upon 
your  hands,  for  it  will  burn  you  if  you  do." 

Frank  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  melt  the  wax.  His 
mother  called  to  him,  and  said — "  Gently,  Frank,  or  you 
will  let  the  wax  drop  upon  your  hand,  and  burn  your- 
self." 

But  he  said,  "  O  no,  mamma,  it  will  not  bum  me." 

And  just  after  he  had  said  this,  a  drop  of  the  melted 
sealing-wax  fell  upon  the  forefinger  of  his  hand,  and 
burnt  him ;  and  he  squeezed  his  finger  as  hard  as  he 
could  to  try  to  stop  the  feeling  of  pain.  "  It  hurts  me 
very  much,  mamma ! — 1  wish  I  had  minded  what  you 
said  to  me — but  I  will  not  cry — I  will  bear  it  well." 

"  You  do  bear  it  well,"  said  his  father ;  "  shake  hands 
with  me,  with  the  hand  that  is  not  burnt." 
'  A  few  minutes  afterward,  Frank  said  that  he  did  not 
B2 


84  FRANK. 

feel  the  pain  any  longer ;  and  he  asked  his  father  if  he 
would  give  him  leave  to  have  the  seahng-wax  again, 
and  to  try  whether  he  could  not  make  such  a  seal  as  he 
had  seen  upon  his  father's  letter,  without  burning  him- 
self "  You  did  not  bum  yourself,  papa,"  said  Frank ; 
"  and  if  I  take  care  and  do  it  as  you  did,  I  shall  not  burn 
myself — may  I  try  again !" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  his  father ;  "  and  I  am  glad  to 
see  that  you  wish  to  try  again,  though  you  have  had  a 
little  pain." 

His  father  showed  him  once  more  how  to  hold  the 
wax  to  the  CEuidle,  and  how  to  drop  it  when  melting 
upon  the  paper,  without  burning  himself 

And  Frank  succeeded  very  weU  this  time,  and  made 
a  good  impression  from  the  seal :  and  he  showed  it  to 
his  mother. 

"  Is  it  not  a  good  seal,  mammal"  said  he.  "  I  took 
good  care  not  to  hold  the  wax  this  time  as  1  did  the 
last,  when  1  burnt  myself" 

"  Yes,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  dare  say  you  remember 
how  you  held  it  when  you  burnt  yourself." 

"O  yes,  that  I  do,  mamma:  the  pain  makes  me  re- 
member it,  I  believe." 

"And  I  dare  say  you  remember  how  you  held  the 
wax  when  you  made  this  pretty  seal." 

"  O  yes,  mamma,  that  I  do ;  and  1  shall  remember  to  do 
it  the  same  way  the  next  time." 

"  You  have  been  rewarded  for  your  patience  by  hav- 
ing succeeded  in  making  this  seal ;  and  you  were  pun- 
ished for  your  carelessness  by  having  burnt  your  fore- 
finger." 


Frank  remembered  that  his  father  desired  him  not  to 
talk  to  him  about  kites  when  he  was  busy  ;  and  though 
Frank  was  very  eager  to  have  a  kite,  he  waited  till  he 
saw  that  his  father  was  neither  reading,  nor  writing, 
nor  talking  to  anybody — then  he  said,  "  Papa,  I  beUeve 
you  are  not  busy  now — will  you  give  me  a  kite  V 

"  I  have  not  a  kite  ready  made  in  my  house,"  replied 
his  father,  "but  I  will  show  you  how  to  make  one  ;  and 
I  will  give  you  some  paper,  and  some  paste,  ^nd  some 
wood,  to  make  it  of."  Then  his  father  gave  him  three 
large  sheets  of  paper ;  and  his  mother  rang  the  bell,  and 


rRANK.  95 

desired  the  servant  would  order  the  cook  to  make  some 
paste. 

And  Frank  asked  his  mother  how  the  cook  made  paste, 
and  what  she  would  make  it  off 

His  mother  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  said,  "  You 
shall  see ;"  and  she  took  Frank  down  stairs  with  her 
into  the  kitchen,  where  he  had  never  been  before  ;  and 
she  stayed  with  him  while  he  looked  at  the  manner  in 
which  the  cook  made  the  paste. 

"What  is  that  white  powder,  mamma,. which  the 
cook  is  taking  up  in  her  hands  1"  said  Frank. 

"  It  is  called  flour,  my  dear — you  may  take  some  of 
it  in  your  hand  ;  and  you  may  taste  it." 

"  Where  does  it  come  from,  mammal" 

"  From  corn,  my  dear.  You  have  seen  com  growing 
in  the  fields ;  and  when  we  walk  out  again  into  a  field, 
when  there  is  corn,  if  you  will  put  me  in  mind,  I  will 
show  you  the  part  of  the  plant  from  which  flour  is 
made." 

"  Made,  mamma !  how  is  it  made  1" 

"  It  is  ground  in  a  mill — but  I  cannot  explain  to  you 
now  what  I  mean  by  that — when  you  see  a  mill,  you 
will  know." 

"  1  should  like  to  see  a  mill,"  said  Frank,  "  now,  this 
minute." 

"  But  I  cannot  show  it  to  you,  Frank,  now,  this  min- 
ute," said  his  mother ;  "  besides,  you  came  here  to  see 
how  paste  was  made ;  and  you  had  better  attend  to  that 
now." 

Frank  attended ;  and  he  saw  how  paste  was  made. 
*•***«#  ^jj(j  when  the  paste  was  made,  it 
was  left  upon  a  plate  to  cool. 

Frank,  as  soon  as  it  was  cool  enough  to  be  used, 
took  it  to  his  father,  and  asked  him  if  he  might 
now  begin  to  make  his  kite  ;  but  his  father  said,  "  My 
dear,  I  cannot  find  two  slips  of  wood  for  you  ;  and  you 
cannot  well  make  your  kite  without  them:  but  I  am 
going  to  the  carpenter's ;.  and  I  can  get  such  bits  as  I 
want  from  him — if  you  wish  to  come,  you  may  come 
with  me." 

Frank  said  that  he  should  like  to  go  to  the  carpen- 
ter's ;  so  his  father  took  him  along  with  him. 

The  carpenter  lived  in  a  village,  which  was  about  a 
mile  from  Frank's  home  ;  and  the  way  to  it  was  by  the 
turnpike-road. 


36  FRANK. 

As  he  walked  along  with  his  father,  he  saw  some  men 
who  were  lifting  up  a  tree  which  they  had  just  cut 
down — it  had  been  growing  in  a  hedge  by  the  roadside 
— the  men  put  the  tree  upon  a  sort  of  carriage ;  and 
then  they  dragged  the  carriage  along  the  road. 

"What  are  they  going  to  do  with  this  tree,  papal" 
said  Frank  ;  "  will  you  ask  them  T" 

The  men  said  that  they  were  carrying  the  tree  to  the 
sawpit,  to  have  it  cut  into  boards. 

They  went  on  a  little  farther ;  and  then  the  men 
turned  up  a  lane,  and  dragged  the  carriage,  with  the  tree 
upon  it,  after  them  ;  and  Frank  told  his  father  that  he 
should  like  very  much  to  see  the  sawpit. 

It  was  not  far  off;  and  his  father  went  down  the  lane 
and  showed  it  to  him. 

At  the  sawpit,  Frank  observed  how  the  sawyer  saw- 
ed wood :  he  looked  at  some  boards  which  had  just 
been  sawed  asunder — when  the  sawyer  rested  himself, 
Frank  looked  at  the  large  sharp  teeth  of  his  saw ;  and 
when  the  sa\vyer  went  on  with  his  work,  Frank's  father 
asked  him  to  saw  slowly  ;  and  Frank  observed,  that  the 
teeth  of  the  saw  cut  and  broke  off  very  small  parts  of 
the  wood,  as  the  saw  was  pushed  and  drawn  backwards 
and  forwards — he  saw  a  great  deal  of  yellow  dust  in 
the  sawpit,  which  his  father  told  him  was  called  saw- 
dust ;  and  fresh  sawdust  fell  from  the  teeth  of  the  saw 
as  it  was  moved. 

The  men  who  had  brought  the  tree  to  be  sawed  into 
boards,  were  all  this  time  busy  in  cutting  off,  with  a 
hatchet,  the  small  branches,  and  Frank  turned  to  look 
at  what  they  were  doing  ;  but  his  father  said,  "  Frank, 
I  cannot  wait  any  longer  now :  I  have  business  to  do  at 
the  carpenter's."  So  Frank  followed  his  father  direct- 
ly ;  and  they  went  on  to  the  carpenter's. 

When  they  came  to  the  door  of  his  workshop,  they 
heard  the  noise  of  his  hammering ;  and  Frank  clapped 
his  hands,  and  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  hammering — ^I 
shall  like  to  hammer  myself." 

"  But,"  said  his  father,  stopping  him,  just  as  he  pulled 
up  the  latch  of  the  door — "  remember  that  the  hammer 
in  this  house  is  not  yours ;  and  you  must  not  meddle 
with  it,  nor  with  any  of  the  carpenter's  tools,  without 
his  leave." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  Frank,  "  I  know  that  I  must  not 
meddle  with  things  that  are  not  mine — I  did  not  meddle 


FRANK.  87 

with  any  of  the  flowers  or  cherries  in  the  gardener's 
nice  garden;  and  I  will  not  meddle  with  any  of  the 
carpenter's  tools."  So  his  father  took  him  into  the 
workshop  ;  and  he  saw  the  bench  upon  which  the  car- 
penter worked,  which  was  called  a  workbench:  upon 
it  he  saw  several  tools,  a  plane,  and  a  chisel,  and  a  saw, 
and  a  gimlet,  and  a  hammer :  he  did  not  meddle  with 
any  of  them  ;  and  after  his  father  had  been  some  time 
in  the  workshop,  and  when  he  saw  that  Frank  did  not 
touch  any  of  these  things,  he  asked  the  carpenter  to  let 
him  touch  them,  and  to  show  him  their  use. 

The  carpenter,  who  had  observed  that  Frank  had  not 
meddled  with  any  of  his  tools,  readily  lent  them  to  him 
to  look  at ;  and  when  he  had  looked  at  them,  showed 
him  their  use — he  planed  a  little  slip  of  wood  with  a 
plane ;  and  he  bored  a  hole  through  it  with  the  gimlet ; 
and  he  sloped  off  the  end  of  it  with  his  chisel ;  and  then 
he  nailed  it  to  another  piece  of  wood  with  nails,  which 
he  struck  into  the  wood  with  his  hammer. 

And  Frank  asked  if  he  might  take  the  hammer  and  a 
nail,  and  hammer  it  into  a  bit  of  wood  himself. 

"  You  may  try,  if  the  carpenter  will  give  you  leave," 
said  his  father. 

So  Frank  took  the  hammer,  and  tried  to  hammer  a 
nail  into  a  bit  of  wood — he  hit  his  fingers,  instead  of  the 
nail,  two  or  three  times  ;  but  at  last  he  drove  it  into  the 
wood ;  and  he  said,  "  I  thought  it  was  much  easier  to 
do  this,  when  I  saw  the  carpenter  hammering." 

Frank  afterward  tried  to  use  the  plane,  and  the  saw, 
which  he  thought  he  could  manage  very  easily ;  but  he 
found  that  he  could  not :  and  he  asked  his  father  what 
was  the  reason  that  he  could  not  do  all  this  as  well  as 
the  carpenter. 

The  carpenter  smiled  and  said,  "  I  have  been  learning 
to  do  all  this,  master,  a  great  long  while.  When  I  first 
took  a  plane  in  my  hand,  I  could  not  use  it  better  than 
you  do  now." 

"  Then  perhaps,  papa,  I  may  learn  too,  in  time.  But, 
papa,"  said  Frank,  recollecting  his  kite,  "  will  you  be  so 
good  as  to  ask  for  the  slips  of  wood  for  my  kite  V 

His  father  did  so ;  and  the  carpenter  found  two  slips 
that  were  just  fit  for  his  purpose,  and  gave  them  to 
him ;  and  his  father  then  desired  him  not  to  talk  any 
more ;  "  For,"  said  he,  "  we  have  business  to  do :  and 
you  must  not  interrupt  us." 


38  FRANK. 


While  his  father  was  speaking  to  the  carpenter  about 
his  own  business,  Frank  went  to  the  window  to  look 
at  it ;  for  it  was  a  different  sort  of  window  from  those 
which  he  had  been  used  to  see  in  his  father's  house.  It 
opened  hke  a  door ;  and  the  panes  of  glass  were  very 
small,  and  had  flat  slips  of  lead  all  round  them. 

While  Frank  was  examining  this  window,  he  heard 
the  sound  of  a  horse  trotting ;  and  he  looked  out,  and 
he  saw  a  horse  upon  the  road,  which  was  before  the 
window. 

The  horse  had  a  saddle  and  bridle  on ;  but  nobody 
was  riding  upon  it : — it  stopped  and  ate  some  grass  by 
the  roadside,  and  then  went  down  a  lane. 

Soon  after  Frank  had  seen  the  horse  go  by,  his  father, 
who  had  finished  his  business  with  the  carpenter,  called 
to  Frank,  and  told  him  that  he  was  going  home. 

Frank  thanked  the  carpenter  for  letting  him  look  at 
the  plane,  and  the  saw,  and  the  chisel,  and  for  giving 
him  a  slip  of  wood  for  his  kite ;  and  he  took  the  bit  of 
wood  with  him,  and  followed  his  father.  When  his 
father  and  he  had  walked  a  few  yards  from  the  carpen- 
ter's door,  a  man  passed  by  them,  who  seemed  very  hot 
and  very  much  tired.  He  looked  back  at  Frank's  father, 
and  said,  "  Pray,  sir,  did  you  see  a  horse  go  by  this  way 
a  little  while  ago  V  ; 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  not,"  said  Frank's  father.  ~/,        ' 

"  But  I  did,  papa,"  said  Frank ;  "  I  saw  a  horse  going 
by,  upon  this  road,  while  I  was  standing  just  now  at 
the  carpenter's  window." 

"  Pray,  master,  what  colour  was  the  horse  you  saw  1** 
said  the  man. 

"  Black,  sir,"  said  Frank. 

"  Had  he  a  saddle  and  bridle  onl"  said  the  man. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  had,"  answered  Frank. 

"  And  pray,  master,"  said  the  man,  "  will  you  be  so 
good  as  to  tell  me  whether  he  went  on  upon  this  road 
straight  before  us,  or  whether  he  turned  down  this  lane 
to  the  right,  or  this  other  lane  to  the  left  hand  1" 

As  the  man  spoke,  he  pointed  to  the  lanes  ;  and  Frank 
answered,  "  The  horse  that  I  saw,  sir,  galloped  down 
this  lane,  to  my  righthand  side." 

"  Thank  you,  master,"  said  the  man.  "  I  will  go 
after  him — I  hope  that  the  people  at  the  house  yonder 
will  stop  him.     He  is  as  quiet  aiifl  good  a  horse  as  can 


THANK.  99 

be,  only  that  whenever  I  leave  him  by  the  roadside, 
without  tying  him  fast  by  the  bridle,  he  is  apt  to  stray 
away ;  and  that  is  what  he  has  done  now." 

The  man,  after  saying  this,  went  down  to  the  Inne  to 
his  righthand  side  ;  and  Frank  walked  on  with  his  father. 

The  road  towards  home  was  up  a  steep  hill ;  and 
Frank  began  to  be  tired  before  he  had  got  halfway  up 
the  hill. 

"  It  did  not  tire  me  so  much,  papa,  as  we  came  down 
the  hill ;  but  it  is  very  difficult  to  get  up  it  again." 

"  I  do  not  hear  all  that  you  are  saying,"  said  his 
father ;  "  you  are  so  far  behind  me — caimot  you  keep 
up  with  me  ■?" 

"  No,  papa,"  cried  Frank,  as  loud  as  he  could,  "  be- 
cause I  ajn  tired — my  knees  are  very  much  tired  coming 
up  this  great  hill." 

His  father  stopped  and  looked  back,  and  saw  that 
Frank  was  trying  to  come  up  the  hill  as  fast  as  he  could. 

At  this  time,  Frank  heard  the  noise  of  a  horse  behind 
him;  and  he  looked  and  saw  the  man  whom  he  had 
spoken  to  a  little  while  before,  riding  up  the  black  horse 
which  he  had  seen  going  down  the  lane. 

The  man  said  to  him,  "  Thank  you,  master,  for  telling 
me  which  way  my  horse  went — you  see  I  have  got  him 
again.  You  seem  sadly  tired — I  will  carry  you  up  this 
hill  upon  my  horse,  if  you  have  a  mind." 

"  I  will  ask  my  father  if  he  likes  it,"  said  Frank. 

His  father  said,  "  Yes,  if  you  please  ;"  and  the  man 
took  Frank  up,  and  set  him  before  him  upon  the  horse, 
and  put  his  arms  round  Frank's  body,  to  hold  him  fast 
upon  the  horse.  Then  the  horse  walked  gently  up  the 
hill,  and  Frank's  father  walked  beside  him — and  when 
they  came  to  the  top  of  the  steep  hili,  his  father  took 
Frank  down  from  the  horse ;  and  Frank  thanked  the 
man  for  carrying  him :  and  he  felt  rested,  and  able  to 
walk  on  merrily  with  his  father. 

And  as  he  walked  on,  he  said  to  his  father,  "  I  am 
glad  that  I  saw  the  horse,  and  observed  which  way  it 
went,  and  that  I  told  the  man  which  road  it  went.  You 
know,  papa,  there  were  three  roads ;  and  the  man  could 
not  know  which  way  the  horse  went  till  I  told  him. 
If  I  had  not  observed,  and  if  I  had  not  told  him  the  right 
road,  he  would  have  gone  on — on — on— on — a  great 
way;  and  he  would  have  tired  himself;  and  he  would 
not  have  found  his  horse." 


'40  PRANK. 

"Very  true,"  said  his  father:  "now  you  have  found 
one  of  the  uses  of  observing  what  you  see,  and  of  re- 
lating facts  exactly." 

"  One  of  the  uses,  papa  I — Are  there  more  uses, 
papa  V 

"  Yes,  a  great  many." 

"  Will  you  tell  aU  to  me  V 

"  I  would  rather  that  you  should  find  them  out  for 
yourself,"  said  his  father — "  you  will  find  them  d31  out 
some  time  or  other." 

Then  Frank  began  to  talk  about  his  kite  ;  and  as  soon 
as  he  had  got  home,  his  father  showed  him  how  to  make 
it,  and  helped  him  to  do  it.  And  when  it  was  made,  he 
left  it  to  dry :  for  the  paste  which  pasted  the  paper  to- 
gether was  wet;  and  his  father  told  him  that  it  must 
dry  before  the  paste  would  hold  the  paper  together,  and 
before  the  kite  was  fit  to  be  used. 

And  when  it  was  quite  dry,  his  father  told  him  that 
he  might  go  out  upon  the  grass,  in  a  field  near  the  house, 
and  fly  it. 

Frank  did  so,  and  it  went  up  very  high  in  the  air ; 
and  it  stayed  up,  now  higher,  now  lower,  for  some  time ; 
and  the  sun  shone  upon  it,  so  that  it  was  plainly  seen ; 
and  the  wind  swelled  out  the  sides  of  it,  as  Frank  pulled 
it  by  the  middle  with  the  string. 

His  mother  came  to  the  window  to  look  at  the  kite, 
and  Frank  was  very  glad  that  she  saw  it  too;  and  when 
it  came  down,  it  fell  upon  the  smooth  grass,  and  it  was 
not  torn. 

Frank  carried  it  into  the  house,  and  put  it  by  carefully 
that  it  might  not  be  spoiled,  and  that  he  might  have  the 
pleasure  of  flying  it  another  day ;  and  he  said,  "  I  wish 
I  could  find  out  why  the  kite  goes  up  into  the  air !" 


It  was  a  rainy  day,  and  Frank  could  not  go  out  to 
fly  his  kite — he  amused  himself  with  playing  with  his 
horsechestnuts.  He  was  playing  in  a  room  by  himself; 
and,  by  accident,  he  threw  one  of  his  horsechestnuts 
against  the  window,  and  it  broke  a  pane  of  glass.  Im- 
mediately he  ran  down  stairs  into  the  room  where  he 
knew  that  his  mother  was,  and  he  went  up  to  her — she 
was  speaking  to  somebody,  and  she  did  not  see  him ; 
and  he  laid  Ms  hand  upon  her  arm  to  make  her  attend 


PRANK. 


h 


to  him :  and  the  moment  she  turned  her  face  to  him,  he 
said,  "  Mamma,  I  have  broken  the  window  in  your  bed- 
chamber, by  throwing  a  horsechestnut  against  it." 

His  mother  said,  "  I  am  sorry  you  have  broken  my 
window;  but  I  am  glad,  my  dear  Frank,  that  you  come 
directly  to  tell  me  of  it."    And  his  mother  kissed  him. 

"  But  how  shall  I  prevent  you,"  said  she,  "  from 
breaking  my  window  again  with  your  horsechestnuts  1" 

"  I  will  take  care  not  to  break  it  again,  mamma," 
said  Frank. 

"  But  you  said  that  you  would  take  care,  before  you 
broke  it  to-day ;  and  yet  you  see  that  you  have  broken  it. 
After  you  burnt  your  finger  by  letting  the  hot  sealing- 
wax  drop  upon  it,  you  took  a  great  deal  of  care  not  to 
do  the  same  thing  again,  did  not  you  V 

"Oh  yes,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  squeezing  the  finger 
which  he  burnt  just  as  he  did  at  the  time  he  burnt  it — 
"  Oh  yes,  mamma,  I  took  a  great  deal  of  care  not  to  do 
the  same  thing  again,  for  fear  of  burning  myself  again." 

"  And  if  you  had  felt  some  pain  when  you  broke  the 
window  just  now,  do  you  not  think  that  you  should 
take  care  not  to  do  so  again  V 

"Yes,  mamma." 
.    "  Where  is  the  horsechestnut  with  which  you  broke 
the  window?" 

"  It  is  lying  upon  the  floor  in  your  room.'* 

"  Go  and  fetch  it." 

Frank  went  for  it,  and  brought  it  to  his  mother ;  and 
she  took  it  in  her  hand  and  said,  "  You  would  be  sorry 
to  see  this  horsechestnut  thrown  away,  would  not  you'?" 

"Yes,  mamma,"  said  Frank;  "for  I  like  to  roll  it 
about,  and  to  play  with  it ;  and  it  is  the  only  one  of  my 
horsechestnuts  that  I  have  left." 

"  But,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  am  afraid  that  you  Mill 
break  another  of  my  windows  with  it ;  and  if  you  would 
throw  it  away,  you  could  not  break  them  with  it ;  and 
the  pain  you  would  feel  at  your  horsechestnut's  being 
thrown  away  would  make  you  remember,  I  think,  not 
to  throw  hard  things  against  glass  windows  again." 

Frank  stood  for  a  little  while  looking  at  his  horse- 
chestnut  ;  and  then  he  said,  "  Well,  mamma,  I  will  throw 
it  away !"  and  he  threw  it  out  of  the  window. 

Some  days  afterward,  his  mother  called  Frank  to  the 
table  where  she  was  at  work ;  and  she  took  out  of  her 

orkbasket  two  leather  balls,  and  gave  them  to  Frank; 


42  FRANKv 

one  of  them  was  very  hard,  and  the  other  was  very 
soft. 

His  mother  desired  that  he  would  play  with  the  soft 
ball  when  he  was  in  the  house,  and  with  the  hard  ball 
when  he  was  out  of  doors — she  said  that  she  had  made 
the  soft  ball  on  purpose  for  him,  that  he  might  have  one 
to  play  with  when  it  was  rainy  weather,  and  when  he 
could  not  go  out. 

This  soft  ball  was  stuffed  with  horsehair ;  it  was  not 
stuffed  tight ;  and  Frank  could  squeeze  it  together  with 
his  fingers. 

Frank  thanked  his  mother:  and  he  liked  the  two 
balls  very  much :  and  his  mother  said  to  him,  "  You 
have  not  broken  any  more  windows,  Frank,  since  you 
punished  yourself  by  throwing  away  your  horsechestnut ; 
and  now  I  am  glad  to  reward  you  for  your  truth  and 
good  sense," 


About  a  week  after  Frank's  mother  had  given  him 
the  two  balls,  she  came  into  the  room  where  he  had 
been  playing  at  ball.  Nobody  had  been  in  the  room  with 
him  till  his  mother  came  in.  She  had  a  large  nosegay 
of  pinks  and  carnations  in  her  hand.  "  Look  here, 
Frank,"  said  she;  "  the  gardener  who  lives  at  the  garden 
with  the  green  gate,  has  brought  these  pinks  and  carna- 
tions, and  has  given  them  to  me  ;  he  says  they  are  some 
of  those  which  you  helped  him  to  tie  up." 

•'  Oh,  they  are  very  pretty !  they  are  very  sweet !" 
said  Frank,  smelling  to  them  as  his  mother  held  them 
towards  him — "  May  I  help  you,  mamma,  to  put  them 
into  the  flower-pot  1" 

*'Yes,  my  dear — bring  the  flower-pot  to  me  which 
stands  on  that  little  table,  and  we  wiU  put  these  flowers 
into  it." 

She  sat  down ;  and  Frank  ran  to  the  little  table  for 
the  flower-pot. 

"There  is  no  water  in  it,  mamma,"  said  Frank. 

"  But  we  can  put  some  in,"  said  his  mother — "  Well ! 
why  do  not  you  bring  it  to  me  ?" 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  I  am  afraid  to  take  it  up ; 
for  here  is  a  great  large  crack  all  down  the  flower-pot ; 
and  when  I  touched  it  just  now,  it  shook  :  it  seems 
quite  loose  ;  and  I  think  it  will  fall  to  pieces  if  I  take  it 
in  my  hands.' 


PRANK.  43 

His  mother  then  came  to  the  little  table  by  which 
Frank  was  standing,  and  she  looked  at  the  flower-pot, 
and  saw  that  it  was  cracked  through,  from  top  to  bot- 
tom ;  and  the  moment  she  took  it  in  her  hands  it  fell 
to  pieces. 

"  This  flower-pot  was  not  broken  yesterday  evening," 
said  his  mother ;  "  I  remember  seeing  it  without  any 
crack  in  it  yesterday  evening,  when  I  took  the  dead 
mignionette  out  of  it." 

"  So  do  I,  mamma:  I  was  by  at  that  time." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you,  my  dear  Frank,"  said  his  mother, 
"whether  you  broke  this  flower-pot;  I  think,  if  you  had 
broken  it,  you  would  come  and  tell  me,  as  you  did  when 
you  broke  the  pane  of  glass  in  this  window." 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  eagerly  looking  up  in  his 
mother's  face,  "  I  did  not  break  this  flower-pot — I  have 
not  meddled  with  it — I  have  been  playing  with  my  soft 
ball,  as  you  desired — look,  here  is  my  soft  ball,"  said 
he ;  "  this  is  what  I  have  been  playing  with  all  this 
morning." 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  believe  you. 
You  told  me  the  truth  before  about  the  window  that 
you  broke." 

Frank's  father  came  into  the  room  at  this  moment ; 
and  Frank  asked  him  if  he  had  broken  or  cracked  the 
flower-pot. 

He  said,  "  No,  I  have  not ;  I  know  nothing  about  it." 

Frank's  mother  rang  the  bell,  and  when  the  maidser- 
vant came  up,  asked  the  maid  whether  she  had  cracked 
the  flower-pot. 

The  maid  answered,  "  No,  madam,  I  did  not."  And 
after  she  had  given  this  answer,  the  maid  left  the  room. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  you  see 
what  an  advantage  it  is  to  speak  the  truth ;  because  I 
know  that  you  told  the  truth  about  the  window  which 
you  broke,  and  about  the  horse  which  you  said  you  had 
seen  going  down  the  lane,  I  cannot  help  believing  that 
you  speak  the  truth  now — I  believe  that  you  did  not 
break  this  flower-pot,  because  you  say  that  you  did  not." 

"  But,  papa,"  said  Frank,  "  I  wish  that  the  person  that 
did  crack  it,  would  tell  you  or  mamma  that  they  cracked 
it,  because  then  you  would  be  quite,  quite  sure  that  I 
did  not  do  it.     Do  you  think  the  maid  did  it  V 

"  No  ;  I  do  not,  because  she  says  she  did  not ;  and  I 
have  always  foua  d  that  she  tells  the  truth." 


44  PRANK. 

Frank's  mother,  while  he  was  speaking,  was  looking 
at  the  broken  pieces  of  the  flower-pot ;  and  she  observed 
that,  near  the  place  where  it  was  cracked,  one  side  of 
the  flower-pot  was  blackened;  and  she  rubbed  the  black, 
and  it  came  off  easily  :  and  she  said,  "  This  looks  as  if 
it  had  been  smoked." 

"  But  smoke  comes  from  the  fire,"  said  Frank,  "  and 
there  has  been  no  fire  in  this  room,  mamma." 

"  And  did  you  never  see  smoke  come  from  any  thing 
but  from  the  fire  in  the  fireplace  V 

"  Not  that  I  remember,  mamma,"  said  Frank — "  Oh, 
yes  ;  I  have  seen  smoke,  a  great  deal  of  smoke,  come 
from  the  spout  of  the  teakettle,  and  from  the  top  of  the 
urn." 

"  That  is  not  smoke,"  said  his  father  ;  "  but  I  will  tell 
you  more  about  that  another  time — caimot  you  recol- 
lect seeing  smoke  come  from — " 

"  From  what,  papa  V 

"  Last  night  you  saw  smoke  coming  from — " 

"  Oh,  now  I  recollect — from  the  candle,  papa,"  said 
Frank. 

"  And  now  I  recollect,"  said  Frank's  father,  "  that  late 
last  night  1  was  sealing  a  letter  at  this  little  table,  and  I 
remember  that  I  left  the  green  wax  candle  burning  very 
near  this  flower-pot,  while  I  went  out  of  the  room  to 
give  the  letter  which  I  had  been  sealing  to  a  man  who 
was  waiting  for  it.  When  1  came  back  again  I  put  out 
the  candle.  I  did  not  observe  that  the  flower-pot  was 
smoked  or  cracked ;  but  I  now  think  it  is  very  probable 
that  the  heat  of  that  candle  cracked  it." 

"  Let  us  look  whether  there  is  any  melted  green 
wax,"  said  Frank,  "  upon  the  pieces  of  the  flower-pot ; 
because  wax,  when  it  was  melting,  might  drop  upon  the 
flower-pot,  as  it  did  upon  my  finger  once." 

Frank  examined  all  the  pieces  of  the  flower-pot,  and 
on  one  bit,  near  the  place  where  it  was  blackened  with 
smoke,  he  found  a  round  spot  of  green  wax. 

"  Then,"  said  his  father,  "  I  am  now  pretty  sure  that 
it  was  I  who  was  the  cause  of  cracking  the  flower-pot, 
by  putting  the  lighted  candle  too  near  it." 

"  [  am  very  glad  we  have  found  out  the  truth,"  said 
Frank;  "and  now,  papa,"  added  he,  "will  you  be  so 
good  as  to  tell  me  about  the  smoke — no,  not  the  smoke, 
but  the  thing  that  looks  so  like  smoke,  which  comes  out 
of  the  top  of  the  urn,  and  out  of  the  spout  of  the  tea- 
kettle 1" 


FRANK.  45 

'•  I  have  not  time  to  explain  it  to  you  now,  Frank,"  said 
his  father :  "  but  if  I  am  not  busy  at  tea-time  this  even- 
ing, you  may  put  me  in  mind  of  it  again."  And,  at 
tea-time,  his  father  showed  him  the  difference  between 
smoke  and  steam.* 


"  The  bread,  mamma,  is  very  good  this  morning," 
said  Frank,  one  morning  at  breakfast. 

"  It  is  new  bread." 

"New  bread,  mamma! — What  is  meant  by  new 
bread?" 

"  Bread  that  has  been  newly  made." 

•'  Bread  is  made  of  flour,  I  remember  you  told  me, 
mamma;  and  flour  comes  from — O  mamma,  do  not 
you  recollect  telling  me  that,  some  time  or  other,  you 
would  show  me  corn  growing  in  the  fields  1 — When  we 
walk  out  this  morning,  I  will  put  you  in  mind  of  it 
again." 

And  when  he  walked  out  with  his  mother  in  the  fields, 
Frank  put  her  in  mind  of  it  again  ;  and  she  said,  "  I  see 
some  men  at  work  yonder,  in  a  corn-field ;  let  us  go 
and  see  what  they  are  doing."  So  they  went  to  the 
field ;  and  Frank's  mother  showed  him  some  wheat 
growing,  and  sJie  showed  him  some  that  had  been  cut 
down ;  she  showed  him  some  that  was  ripe,  and  some 
that  was  not  ripe.  And  then  they  walked  farther  on, 
to  the  part  of  the  field  where  the  men  were  at  work. 

Frank  saw  that  they  had  a  kind  of  sharp,  bright  hook 
in  their  hands,  with  which  they  were  cutting  down  the 
wheat.  His  mother  told  him  that  these  hooks  were 
called  reaping-hooks. 

He  saw  that,  after  the  wheat  was  cut  down,  the  men 
tied  up  bundles  of  it,  which  they  set  upright  in  the  field 
at  regular  distances  from  each  other.  His  mother  told 
him  that  each  of  these  bundles  was  called  a  sheaf  of 
wheat ;  and  she  pulled  out  a  single  stalk,  and  put  it  into 
his  hand,  and  said,  "  This  is  called  an  ear  of  wheat — 
what  grows  upon  a  single  stalk  is  called  an  ear  of 
wheat." 

While  Frank  was  looking  at  the  men  tying  up  the 
Bheaves,  a  person  came  up  to  him,  and  said,  "  You  are 

*  See  Harry  and  Lucy. 


l6 


PRANK. 


welcome  here,  master. — You  are  he  that  was  so  good 
as  to  tell  me  which  road  my  horse  strayed,  some  time 
ago." 

Frank  looked  in  the  face  of  the  person  who  was 
speaking  to  him  ;  and  he  recollected  this  to  be  the  man 
who  carried  him  up  the  steep  hill  upon  his  horse. 

This  man  was  a  farmer,  and  he  was  now  overlook- 
ing some  labourers  who  were  reaping  his  wheat.  He 
pointed  to  a  small  house  among  some  trees  at  a  little 
distance,  and  he  told  Frank's  mother  that  he  lived  in 
that  house,  and  that  if  she  would  like  to  walk  there,  he 
could  show  Frank  how  the  men  were  thrashing  in  his 
barn. 

Frank's  mother  thanked  the  farmer ;  and  they  walked 
to  his  house — it  was  a  thatched,  whitewashed  house ; 
and  it  looked  very  neat. 

There  weie  some  scarlet  flowers  in  the  kitchen-gar- 
den, which  looked  very  pretty.  As  they  passed  through 
the  garden,  Frank  asked  the  name  of  these  flowers ;  and 
his  mother  told  him  that  these  were  called  scarlet  run- 
ners ;  and  she  said  to  him,  "  on  this  kind  of  plant  grow 
kidney  beans,  of  which  you  are  so  fond,  Frank." 

Frank  saw  cabbages,  and  cauliflowers,  and  lettuce,  in 
this  garden  :  but  his  mother  said,  "  Come,  Frank,  you 
must  not  keep  us  waiting  ;"  and  he  followed  his  mother 
through  a  yard,  where  there  were  a  great  number  of 
ducks,  and  fowls,  and  geese,  and  turkeys ;  and  they 
made  a  great  noise  :  and  several  of  them  clapped  their 
white  wings  ;  and  the  geese  and  turkeys  stretched  out 
their  long  necks. 

"  You  need  not  squeeze  my  hand  so  tight,  Frank," 
said  his  mother :  "  you  need  not  squeeze  yourself  up  so 
close  to  me :  these  geese  and  turkeys  will  not  do  you 
any  harm,  though  they  make  so  much  noise." 

So  Frank  walked  on  stoutly ;  and  he  found  that  the 
geese  and  turkeys  did  not  hurt  him  :  and  when  he  had 
crossed  this  yard,  the  farmer  led  him  through  a  gate 
into  a  large  yard  where  there  were  ricks  of  hay  ;  and 
there  were  several  cows  in  this  yard ;  and  as  he  passed 
by  them,  Frank  observed  that  their  breath  smelt  very 
sweet. 

"  Come  this  way  into  the  barn,"  said  the  farmer : 
**  here  are  the  men  who  are  thrashing." 

The  barn,  on  the  inside,  looked  like  a  large  room, 
with  rough  walls  and  no  ceiling;  but  it  had  a  floor. 


PRANK.  4'T 

Four  men  were  at  work  in  this  barn :  tliey  were  beating 
some  wheat  that  lay  upon  the  floor  with  long  sticks ; 
they  made  a  great  noise  as  they  struck  the  floor  with 
their  sticks,  so  that  Frank  could  neither  make  his  mother 
hear  what  he  said,  nor  could  he  hear  her  voice. 

The  sticks  seemed  to  be  half  broken  in  two  in  the 
middle  ;  and  they  seemed  to  swing  with  great  violence 
as  the  men  struck  with  them ;  and  Frank  was  afraid 
that  the  sticks  should  reach  to  where  he  stood,  and 
should  hit  him ;  but  after  he  had  been  in  the  barn  for  a 
little  while,  he  became  less  afraid;  he  observed  that 
the  sticks  did  not  swing  within  reach  of  him. 

The  farmer  asked  the  men  to  stop  working ;  and  they 
stopped :  and  the  farmer  took  one  of  the  things  with 
which  they  had  been  working  out  of  their  hands,  and 
showed  it  to  Frank. 

His  mother  told  him  that  it  was  called  a  flail.  It  was 
made  of  two  sticks,  tied  together  with  a  bit  of  leather. 

The  farmer  showed  Frank  the  wheat  which  lay  upon 
the  floor  ;  and  his  mother  showed  him  that  the  loose, 
outside  cover  of  the  wheat,  was  beaten  off"  by  the  strokes 
of  the  flail. 

The  farmer  said,  "  You  may  take  some  of  the  wheat, 
master,  in  your  hand,  and  some  of  the  chaff";  and  then 
you  will  see  the  difference.  The  chaff"  was  the  outside 
covering." 

''  And  how  is  this  wheat  made  into  bread  ]" 

"  O  master,"  said  the  farmer,  "  a  great  deal  must  be 
done  to  it  before  it  is  made  into  bread — it  must  go  to 
the  mill  to  be  ground." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  mill,  mamma,"  said  Frank  ; 
"  but  1  do  not  know  what  he  means  by  to  be  ground." 

"  That  you  will  see  when  you  go  to  the  mill." 

"  Shall  we  go  to  the  mill  now,  mamma?"  said  Frank. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother ;  "  I  would  rather 
that  you  should  wait  till  some  day  when  your  father 
can  have  time  to  go  with  you  to  the  mill,  because  he 
can  explain  it  to  you  much  better  than  I  could." 

Then  Frank  and  his  mother  thanked  the  farmer  for 
what  he  had  shown  thera ;  and  they  had  a  pleasant 
walk  home. 


48  TRANK. 


"  Ah !  spare  yon  emmet,  rich  in  hoarded  gram  ; 
He  lives  with  pleasure,  and  he  dies  with  pain."* 

Frank  was  always  careful  not  to  hurt  insects,  nor  any 
sort  of  animals.  He  liked  to  observe  spiders  in  their 
webs,  and  ants  carrying  their  white  loads ;  but  he  never 
teased  them ;  even  those  animals  which  he  did  not 
think  pretty,  he  took  care  not  to  hurt. 

One  evening,  when  he  was  walking  with  his  father 
and  mother,  upon  a  gravel-walk  near  the  house,  he  saw 
several  black  snails.  He  did  not  think  them  pretty 
animals ;  but  whenever  he  came  near  one,  he  took  care 
not  to  tread  upon  it.  He  stooped  down  to  look  at  one 
of  these  black  snails,  which  was  drawing  in  its  black 
horns. 

"  I  believe,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  that  he  drew  in 
Ihose  horns  because  he  is  afraid  I  am  going  to  hurt  him." 

"  Very  likely." 

"  But  that  is  foolish  of  the  snail,  mamma,  because, 
you  know,  I  am  not  going  to  hurt  it." 

"  I  know  that,  Frank  ;  but  how  should  the  snail  know 
it  r' 

"  He  lies  quite  still — he  will  not  put  out  his  black 
horns  again — I  will  go  away  and  leave  him,  that  I  may 
not  frighten  him  any  more.  I  should  not  like  to  be 
frightened  myself,  if  I  was  a  snail,"  said  Frank.  So  he 
ran  on  before  his  father  and  mother,  and  left  the  snail; 
and  he  saw  some  pretty  brown  and  green  moss  upon  a 
bank ;  and  he  asked  his  mother  if  he  might  gather  some 
of  it. 

She  said,  "  Yes ;"  and  he  climbed  up  the  bank,  and 
he  gathered  some  of  the  moss ;  and  in  the  moss,  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree,  he  found  a  pretty  shell :  it  was  striped 
with  purple,  and  green,  and  straw  colour,  and  white ; 
and  it  was  smooth  and  very  shining.  He  got  down 
from  the  bank  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  he  ran  and 
asked  his  mother  if  he  might  keep  this  pretty  shell,  and 
carry  it  into  the  house,  when  he  came  home  from  walk- 
ing. 

His  mother  looked  at  the  shell  as  Frank  held  it  upon 
the  pilm  of  his  hand ;  and  she  told  him  that  he  might 
have  t,  and  that  he  might  carry  it  into  the  house  with 

r  *  Sir  William  Jones. 


FRANK. 


4# 


him  when  he  went  home ;  and  she  told  him  it  was  a 

snail-shell. 

"A  snail-shell,  mamma!"  said  Frank;  "I  never  saw 
such  a  pretty  snail-shell  before  :  I  am  glad  I  have  found 
it,  and  I  will  take  care  not  to  break  it." 

Frank  held  it  carefully  in  his  hand  during  the  rest  of 
his  walk ;  and  he  often  looked  at  it  to  see  that  it  was 
safe  ;  and,  just  as  he  came  near  the  hall  door,  he  opened 
his  hand  and  began  to  count  the  number  of  coloured 
rings  upon  his  snail-shell — "  One,  two,  three,  four,  five 
rings,  mamma,"  said  Frank ;  "  and  the  rings  seem  to 
wind  round  and  round  the  shell ;  they  are  larger  at  the 
bottom  ;  and  they  grow  less,  and  less,  and  less,  as  they 
wind  up  to  the  top." 

"  That  is  called  a  spiral  line,"  said  his  father,  pointing 
to  the  line  which,  as  Frank  said,  seemed  to  wind  round 
and  round  the  shell. 

As  Frank  was  looking  with  attention  at  the  shell,  he 
felt  something  cold,  clammy,  and  disagreeable,  touching 
his  hand  at  the  bottom  of  the  shell ;  and  with  his  other 
hand  he  was  going  to  lift  up  the  shell  to  see  what  this 
was ;  but,  when  he  touched  it,  he  found  that  it  stuck  to 
his  hand:  and,  a  few  instants  afterward,  he  saw  the 
snail-shell  seemed  to  rise  up ;  and  he  perceived  the 
horns  and  head  of  a  snail  peeping  out  from  beneath  the 
shell.  "  O  mamma !  there  is  a  living  snail  in  this  shell 
— look  at  it,"  said  Frank — "  look !  it  has  crawlpd  out  a 
great  deal  farther  now,  and  it  carries  its  shell  upon  its 
back :  it  is  very  curious ;  but  I  wish  it  was  crawling 
an)rwhere  but  upon  my  hand,  for  I  do  not  like  the  cold 
sticky  feeling  of  it." 

Frank  then  was  going  to- shake  the  snail  from  his 
hand ;  but  he  recollected  that,  if  he  let  it  fall  suddenly 
upon  the  stone  steps,  he  might  hurt  the  animal,  or  break 
the  pretty  shell ;  therefore,  he  did  not  shake  it  off;  but 
he  put  his  hand  down  gently  to  the  stone  step,  and  the 
snail  crawled  off  his  hand  upon  the  stone. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  I  think  the  snail  might  do 
without  that  pretty  shell.  You  gave  the  shell  to  me, 
mamma — may  I  pull  it  off  the  snail's  back  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "I  did  not  know  that 

there  was  a  snail  in  that  shell  when  I  said  that  you 

might  have  it — I  would  not  have  given  it  to  you,  if  I 

had  known  that  there  was  a  snail  withinside  of  it — you 

5  C 


ti  FRANK. 

c  ihDoi  pull  the  shell  from  the  snail's  back,  without 
h  nting  {he  animal  or  breaking  the  shell." 

'*  I  do  not  wish  to  hurt  the  animal,"  said  Frank ;  "  and 
I  am  sure  I  do  not  wish  to  break  the  pretty  shell,  so  I 
w.'llnot  p\Ul  it — but,  mamma,  I  think  I  had  better  take 
th*  snail  and  snail-shell,  both  together,  into  the  house, 
and  keep  them  in  my  little  red  box,  mamma ;  what  do 
yoa  think  ?" 

''I  think,  my  dear,  that  the  snail  would  not  be  so 
happy  in  your  little  red  box,  as  it  would  be  in  the  open 
air,  upon  the  grass,  or  upon  the  leaves,  which  it  usually 
eats." 

"  But,  mamma,  I  would  give  it  leaves  to  eat  in  the 
little  red  box." 

"  But,  Frank,  you  do  not  know  what  leaves  it  likes 
best  to  eat ;  and,  if  you  do  not  shut  it  up  in  your  red 
box,  it  wiU  find  the  leaves  for  itself  which  it  loves 
best." 

"  Then,  if  you  do  not  think  it  would  be  happy  in  my 
red  box,  mamma,  I  will  not  shut  it  up  in  it — I  will  leave 
it  to  go  where  it  pleases,  with  its  own  pretty  shell  upon 
its  back — that  is  what  I  should  like  if  I  was  a  snail,  I 
believe." 

He  then  took  the  snail,  and  put  it  upon  the  grass,  and 
left  it ;  and  he  went  into  the  house  with  his  mother,  and 
she  called  him  into  her  room ;  and  she  took  out  of  her 
bureau  something,  which  she  held  to  Frank's  ear;  and 
he  heard  a  noise  like  the  sound  of  water  boiling ;  then 
she  put  into  Frank's  hands  what  she  had  held  to  his 
ear ;  and  he  saw  that  it  was  a  large  shell,  speckled  red, 
and  brown,  and  white ;  it  was  so  large  that  his  little 
fingers  could  hardly  grasp  it. 

"  Do  you  like  it  as  well  as  you  did  the  snail-shell  !" 

"  Oh  yes,  a  great  deal  better,  mamma." 

"Then  I  will  give  it  to  you,  my  dear,"  said  his 
mother. 

"  Keep  it,"  said  his  father ;  "  and,  even  if  you  keep 
it  till  you  are  as  old  as  I  am,  you  will  feel  pleasure 
when  you  look  at  it ;  for  you  will  recollect  that  your 
mother  was  pleased  with  you  when  she  gave  it  to  you, 
because  you  had  been  good-natured  to  a  poor  Uttle 
snail." 


FRANK.  SI 


"  What  was  it,  mamma,"  said  Frank, "  that  papa  waa 
Baying  to  you  just  after  you  were  looking  at  the  snail  1" 

"  I  do  not  recollect,  my  dear." 

"  I  wish  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  try  to  recollect, 
mamma,  because  it  sounded  very  pretty,  and  1  should 
like  to  hear  it  again.  It  seemed  like  something  out  of  a 
book — it  was  something  about  horned  snails,  and  var- 
nished shells,  and  sliding — " 

"  Do  you  mean, 

" '  Slide  here,  ye  homed  snails  with  varnished  shells  ?' " 

"  Oh,  yes,  mamma,"  cried  Frank,  "  that  is  what  I 
mean;  but  papa  said  a  great  deal  more  of  it — ^will  you 
say  it  for  me  1" 

"  I  will  repeat  the  lines,  that  you  may  hear  the  agree- 
able sound  ;  but  I  do  not  think  that  you  can  understand 
the  sense  of  them  yet,"  said  his  mother :  and  she  re- 
peated to  him  the  following  lines : — 

" '  Stay  thy  soft  murmuring  waters,  gentle  rill ; 

Hush,  whispering  winds  ;  ye  rustling  leaves,  be  still ; 

Rest,  silver  butterflies,  your  quivering  wings ; 

Alight,  ye  beetles,  from  your  aiiry  ringa  ; 
f^-\<  ■    Ye  painted  moths,  your  gold-eyed  plumage  furl, 
"   ■"  ■  Bow  your  wide  horns,  your  spiral  trunks  uncurl ; 

Glitter,  ye  glow-worms,  on  your  mossy  beds  ; 
•'''•ryi'f' Descend,  ye  spiders,  on  your  lengthened  threads  ; 
\,t,i •/.     Slide  here,  ye  horned  snails  with  varnished  shells  ; 
«-    ,,        Ye  bee-nymphs,  listen  in  your  waxen  cells.'  "* 

''  •*  I  do  not  understand  the  last  line,  mamma,  at  all ;  but 
I  understand  about  the  spiders  coming  down  on  their 
long  threads — I  have  often  looked  at  spiders  doing  that 
— but,  mamma,  I  never  saw  any  moths  that  had  trunks ; 
1  do  not  think  that  a  moth  could  carry  a  trunk." 

"  What  do  you  think  is  meant  by  a  trunk,  my  dearV 

**  A  sort  of  box." 

"  That  i3  one  meaning  of  the  word  trunk — do  you 
know  any  other  meaning  ]" 

"  Yes ;  a  trunk  of  a  tree." 

"  And  did  you  never  see  the  picture  of  the  trunk  of 
an  elephant  V 

"  Yes,  yes,  mamma ;  I  remember  seeing  that,  and  I 
remember  you  read  to  me  an  account  of  the  elephant ; 
and  you  told  me  that  he  could  curl  up  that  trunk  of  his 

,  *  Darwin, 

•  C3 


52  PRANK. 

— ^but,  mamma,  such  moths  as  I  have  seen  are  little  fly- 
ing animals,  about  as  large  as  a  butterfly :  they  could 
not  have  such  trunks  as  elephants  have." 

"  No,    they  have  not :  they  have  not  such  large 
trunks." 
"  Will  you  tell  me  what  sort  of  tnmks  they  have  V 
"  I  will  show  you,  the  first  time  we  see  a  moth." 
"  Thank  you,  mamma :  and  I  wish  you  could  show 
me  a  glow-worm — I  have  seen  a  beetle — but,  mamma, 
will  you  say  that  part  about  the  beetle  again  1" 

"  Alight,  ye  beetles,  from  your  airy  rings." 

"  What  does  that  mean,  mamma  V 

"  Beetles  sometimes  fly  round  and  round  in  the  air, 
so  as  to  make  the  shape  of  circles  or  rings  m  the  air; 
and  alight,  here  means,  come  down  from — alight  upon 
the  ground,  or  settle  upon  the  ground." 

"  And  silver  butterflies,  mamma,  does  not  mean  made 
of  silver,  but  that  they  look  shining  Uke  silver ;  does 
not  it  V 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

"  But  I  wish  very  much,  mamma,  to  see  the  glow- 
worms that  lie  on  the  mossy  beds." 

"  1  will  try  if  I  can  find  a  glow-worm,  and  show  it  to 
you  this  evening,"  said  his  mother. 

in  the  evening,  when  it  was  dusk,  Frank's  mother 
called  him,  and  bid  him  follow  her  ;  and  she  went  down 
a  lane  that  was  near  their  house,  and  Frank  followed 
her.  She  looked  from  side  to  side,  on  the  banks  and 
under  the  hedges,  as  she  walked  along. 

"Are  you  looking  for  a  glow-worm,  mamma?"  said 
Frank ;  "  it  is  so  dark  now  that  I  am  afraid  we  shall 
not  see  it,  unless  it  is  a  great  deal  larger  than  the  com- 
mon worm,  or  unless  we  had  a  lantern — may  I  go  back 
for  the  little  lantern  that  is  in  the  hall ;  there  is  a  candle 
ready  lighted  in  it,  mamma — may  I  go  back  for  it, 
mamma?" 

"  No,  my  dear ;  we  shall  not  want  a  lantern,  nor  a 
candle — we  shall  be  more  likely  to  find  a  glow-worm  in 
the  dark  than  if  we  had  a  candle." 

Frank  was  surprised  at  heai-ing  his  mother  say  this — 
"  I  can  always  find  things  better  in  the  light  than  in  the 
dark,"  said  he.  But,  just  as  he  finished  speaking,  he 
saw  a  light  upon  the  bank,  near  the  place  where  his 
mother  was  standing ;  and  she  called  to  him,  and  said, 


PHANK.  53 

**HeTe  is  a  glow-worm,  Frank :  come  nearer  to  me, 

and  you  will  see  it  better." 

Frank  kneeled  down  upon  the  bank  beside  his 
mother ;  and  he  saw  that  the  light  seemed  to  come 
from  the  tail  of  a  little  brown  caterpillar. 

The  caterpillar  crawled  on  upon  the  bank  ;  and  the 
light  moved  on  whenever  the  caterpillar  moved,  and 
stood  still  whenever  it  stood  still. 

Frank's  mother,  while  the  glow-worm  was  standing 
still,  put  her  hand  down  upon  the  bank  close  beside  it ; 
and,  by-and-by,  the  glow-worm  began  to  move  again; 
and  it  crawled  upon  her  hand. 

"  O  mamma !  take  care,"  cried  Frank ;  "  it  will  bum 
you." 

"  No,  my  dear,  it  will  not  burn  me,  it  will  not  hurt 
me,"  said  his  mother :  and  she  held  her  hand  towards 
Frank ;  and  he  saw  the  glow-worm  upon  it. 

"  Shall  I  put  it  in  your  hand  ?"  said  his  mother. 

Frank  drew  back,  as  if  he  was  still  a  little  afraid  that 
it  should  burn  him. 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  it  will  not  hurt  you — 
you  know  that  I  would  not  tell  you  that  it  would  not 
hurt  you  if  it  would — you  know  that  I  told  you  the  hot 
melting  sealing-wax  would  scald  you  if  you  let  it  drop 
upon  your  fingers,  and  it  did — but  I  tell  you  that  the 
light  which  you  see  about  this  animal  will  not  burn 
you,  as  the  flame  of  a  candle  or  as  the  fire  would." 

"  Then  here  is  my  hand,  mamma — put  the  glow-worm 
upon  it,  and  I  will  not  shrink  back  again,"  said  Frank. 

He  found  that  the  light  from  the  glow-worm  did  not 
hurt  him  in  the  least ;  and  he  asked  his  mother  how  it 
came  that  this,  which  looked  so  much  like  the  flame 
of  a  candle,  should  not  burn  him. 

But  she  answered,  "  I  cannot  explain  that  to  you, 
my  dear." 

And  when  Frank  had  looked  at  the  glow-worm  as 
long  as  he  liked  to  do  so,  his  mother  desired  him  to  put 
it  again  upon  the  bank,  and  he  did  so ;  and  before  they 
got  home,  Frank  saw  several  other  glow-worms  upon 
the  banks,  and  his  n>other  said  to  him,  "  Now  you  know 
the  meaning  of 

" '  Glitter,  ye  glo\v-worm3,  on  your  mossy  beds.'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Frank ;  ^^  glitter  means  look  bright,  shine 
—thank  you,  mamma,  for  showing  me  these  glow- 


:t>4  FRANK. 

.  worms ;  and,  some  time  or  other,  I  hope  we  shall  sea 
the  trunk  of  a  moth." 


The  candles  were  lighted,  and  all  the  window-shut- 
ters in  the  room  were  shut,  except  the  shutters  of  one 
.window,  which  were  left  open  to  let  in  air ;  for  it  was  a 
warm  evening. 

Frank's  mother  was  sitting  upon  a  sofa,  reading ;  and 
Frank  was  kneeling  upon  a  chair  at  the  table  upon 
which  the  candles  stood.  He  was  looking  at  some 
prints  in  a  book  which  his  mother  had  lent  to  him. 

Through  the  window,  which  was  open,  there  flew 
into  the  room  a  large  moth — it  flew  towards  the  candle. 

"  O  mamma !  here  is  a  moth,"  cried  Frank. 

As  he  spoke,  the  moth,  which  had  flown  very  quickly 
round  and  round  the  candle  two  or  three  times,  went 
so  close  to  the  flame  that  Frank  thought  it  would  bum 
itself  to  death;  and  he  cried,  "  Oh,  it  will  bum  itself!" 
and  he  put  his  hand  before  his  eyes,  that  he  might  not 
see  the  moth  bum  itself — but  his  mother  did  not  put  her 
hand  before  her  eyes :  she  got  up  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble, and  put  lier  hand  gently  over  the  moth,  and  caught 
it,  and  so  prevented  it  from  burning  itself  in  the  candle. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  caught  it,  mamma,"  said  Frank,; 
"and  the  next  time  I  will  try  to  catch  it  as  you  did; 
and  I  will  not  put  my  hands  before  my  eyes,  because 
that  did  the  moth  no  good." 

His  mother  then  covered  the  moth  with  a  glass  tum- 
bler, and  she  put  it  upon  the  table  ;  and  Frank  looked 
through  the  glass,  and  he  saw  it  plainly. 

When  the  moth  was  quiet,  Frank's  mother  took  a 
honeysuckle  out  of  her  nosegay ;  and  she  lifted  up  one 
side  of  the  tumbler  a  little  way  from  the  table,  and  she 
squeezed  the  honeysuckle  under  the  tumbler ;  and  as 
soon  as  the  moth  perceived  the  flower  was  near  him, 
he  walked  upon  it,  and  Frank  saw  him  uncurl  what 
is  called  his  trunk,  or  proboscis  ;  and  he  saw  the  moth 
dip  it  into  part  of  the  flower  of  the  honeysuckle — and 
he  saw  also  what  were  called  the  horns  of  the  moth ; 
and  he  saw  the  animal  bow  them  forwards ;  and  he 
said,  "  Now,  mamma,  will  you  repeat  those  two  line* 
about  the  moth  again  for  me  1" 

" '  Ye  painted  moths,  your  gold -eyed  plumage  furl; 
Bow  your  wide  horns,  your  spiral  trunks  uncurL' " 


FRANK.  85 

"  Painted .'"  said  Frank — "  it  does  not  mean  that  the 
moth  is  painted,  I  suppose,  but  that  it  looks  as  if  it  was 
painted.  Gold-eyed  plumage,  vcvAXan\^\  What  does  that 
mean?" 

"  Plumage  means  feathers,  such  as  you  see  on  birds. 
Look  through  this  glass,"  said  his  mother,  putting  a 
magnifying-glass  into  his  hand. 

♦'  I  have  looked  through  this  glass  before  at  a  cater. 
pillar,  mamma ;  it  makes  things  look  larger." 

His  mother  lifted  up  the  tumbler  gently  ;  and  as  the 
moth  was  settled  upon  the  honeysuckle,  Frank  looked 
through  the  magnifying-glass  at  it. 

"  Mamma,  it  looks  very  large  :  and  upon  its  wings," 
said  Frank,  "  I  see  what  look  like  very,  very  small 
feathers." 

"  That  is  what  is  meant  by  plumage.'''' 

"  But  gold-eyed,  mamma ! — 1  see  no  gold  eyes." 

•*  Do  you  see  some  spots  upon  the  wings  V 

•'Daric-brown  spots,  mamma]" 

"  Yes." 

"  They  are  of  the  shape  of  eyes ;  and  though  they 
are  not  eyes,  they  are  qalled  so  from  their  shape.  In 
some  moths  those  spots  are  yellow,  gold-coloured :  and 
then  they  may  be  called  gold-eyed.'''' 

"  One  thing  more,  mamma,"  said  Frank :  "  What  does 

it  mean  by Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  say  the 

first  line  again ;  for  I  do  not  recollect  the  word  that  I 
did  not  understand." 

His  mother  repeated  the  line  again — 

"  ♦  Ye  painted  moths,  your  gold-eyed  plumage  furl ;'  " 

"  Furl,  mamma — furl  is  the  word  which  I  do  not  un- 
derstand." 

His  mother  showed  him  a  fan,  and  showed  him  what 
is  meant  by  to  furl  and  unfurl  a  fan ;  and  when  the  moth 
closed  and  afterward  spread  its  wings,  she  said,  "  Now 
he  is  furling,  and  now  he  is  unfurling  his  pretty  wings : 
furl  and  unfurl  are  seamen's  phrases,  and  are  used  met- 
aphorically in  speaking  of  a  fan,  or  of  a  moth's  wings." 

"  Metaphorically !  mamma,"  said  Frank ;  "  1  think 
that  is  a  harder  word  than  furl." 

"  It  is,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother,  »*  but  I  will  explain 
it  to  you.  When  a  word,  that  properly  belongs  to  one 
kind  of  thing,  is  made  use  of  in  speaking  of  another 
kind  of  thing,  then  it  is  used  metaplwrically — as  the  word 


8"6  PRANK. 

fxtrl,  which  is  properly  used  in  speaking  of  the  'sails  of 
a  ship,  and  metaphorically  in  speaking  of  a  moth's  wings. 
But  now  I  think  we  have  kept  the  poor  moth  long  enough 
under  this  glass — we  will  now  let  him  fly  about  where 
he  pleases."  So  she  took  the  moth,  and  let  him  fly  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Do  you  know,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  that  1  can  re- 
peat those  two  lines  about  the  moths  T — I  wish  you 
would  say  the  other  lines  again  for  me,  that  I  might 
learn  them  all,  and  then  say  them  to  my  father ;  I  think 
he  would  like  to  hear  me  say  them  after  dinner,  to-mor- 
row, mamma." 

"  I  think  your  father  will  like  to  hear  you  repeat 
them  if  you  understand  them  all,  but  not  otherwise." 

"  I  think  I  do  understand  them  all — every  one  now, 
mamma,  except  something  in  the  last  line  about  bees  in 
their  waxen  cells." 

"  You  never  saw  a  honeycomb,  did  you,  Frank  V 

"  No,  mamma,  never." 

"  When  ^u  see  a  honeycomb,  you  will  know  what  is 
meant  by  the  waxen  cells  in  which  bees  live." 


The  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  there  was  part  of  a 
honeycomb  upon  a  plate  on  the  breakfast-table ;  and 
Frank's  mother  showed  it  to  him ;  and  she  gave  him 
some  honey.  He  liked  the  sweet  taste  of  the  honey: 
and  he  thought  the  honeycomb  was  very  pretty.  His 
mother  gave  him  a  little  bit  of  the  honeycomb,  which 
she  told  him  was  made  of  wax. 

"  It  is  quite  a  different  sort  of  wax  from  sealing-wax, 
mamma,"  said  Frank:  "where  does  this  wax  come 
from,  and  this  pretty  honeycomb,  and  this  sweet  honey  V 

His  mother  told  him  that  she  would  show  him  where 
they  all  came  from,  when  she  had  finished  eating  her 
breakfast.  And,  after  breakfast  was  over,  she  took 
Frank  with  her  to  a  cottage,  belonging  to  an  old  woman 
in  the  neighbourhood. 

The  old  woman  was  sitting  at  her  door,  turning  a 
small  wheel  very  quickly  round,  which  Frank's  mother 
told  him  was  called  a  spinning-wheel. 

The  old  woman  pushed  her  spinning-wheel  on  one 
side,  and  got  up,  as  soon  as  they  came  to  the  door. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  good  honey  you  sent  us,  Mrs. 
^Vheeler,"  said  Frank's  mother. 


FRANK.  <}^ 

"  You  are  heartily  welcome,  ma'am,  I'm  sure,"  said 
the  old  woman;  "but  it  was  not  I  that  sent  it;  it  was 
my  grandson  sent  it  to  you — George !  George !  are  you 
there?" 

A  little  boy  came  running  to  the  door :  and  he  smiled 
when  he  saw  Frank,  and  Frank  smiled  when  he  saw 
him ;  for  he  recollected  that  this  was  the  same  boy  to 
whom  he  had  returned  the  nuts  which  he  had  found 
dropped  near  the  stile — the  same  boy  who  had  brought 
him  back  his  ripe  bunch  of  cherries. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  honey  you  sent  us,"  said  Frank's 
mother  to  this  boy ;  "  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  let  us 
look  at  your  beehive? — I  hear  that  you  have  a  glass 
beehive." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  have,"  said  the  boy ;  "  and  if  you  will 
be  pleased  to  come  with  me  into  the  garden,  I  will  show 
it  to  you — I  have  a  glass  beehive,  and  I  have  a  straw 
beehive." 

Frank  and  his  mother  followed  the  boy,  who  ran 
across  a  narrow  passage,  which  went  straight  through 
the  house ;  and  he  opened  a  low  gate,  and  took  them 
into  a  small  garden.  The  paths  were  narrow ;  and  he 
said  to  Frank,  "  Take  care  that  you  do  not  prick  your- 
self against  the  gooseberry-bushes,  as  I  do  when  I  am 
in  a  hurry  to  get  by." 

Frank  took  care  not  to  prick  himself;  and  the  boy 

Eointed  to  his  beehives,  and  said,  "  There  are  my  bee- 
ives,  and  there  are  my  bees." 

"  Did  bees  make  that  straw  basket  1"  said  Frank. 

The  boy  laughed  so  much  at  this  question,  that  he 
could  make  no  answer ;  but  Frank's  mother  answered, 
"  No,  my  dear ;  the  bees  did  not  make  that  straw  bas- 
ket ;  that  was  made  by  men :  but  go  and  look  in  through 
the  little  pane  of  glass  in  that  wooden  box,  and  you  will 
see  what  bees  mak-e." 

"  Do  not  you  know,"  said  the  little  boy,  "  what  bees 
make!  I  thought  everybody  knew  that  bees  make 
honey  and  wax." 

"  How  can  they  make  honey  ?  What  do  they  make  it 
of!"  said  Frank. 

"  They  collect  it ;  they  get  it  from  flowers,"  answered 
his  mother;  and  she  said  to  the  boy,  "May  I  gather 
this  honeysuckle?"  touching  a  honeysuckle  which 
grew  in  an  arbour  close  beside  the  place  where  she 
£tood. 

C3 


58  FRANK. 

"Yes,  and  welcome,  ma'am,"  said  the  boy;  "that 
honeysuckle  is  mine :  grandmother  gave  it  to  me." 

When  Frank's  mother  had  gathered  the  honeysuckle, 
she  pulled  off"  a  part  of  the  flower ;  and  she  held  that 
end  of  the  flower  which  grew  next  the  stalk  to  Frank's 
mouth,  and  she  bid  him  suck  it. 

He  sucked  it. 

"  It  has  a  sweet  taste  like  honey,"  said  Frank.  •'  Is 
that  the  reason  the  flower  is  called  honeysuckle,  mam- 
ma?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  believe  it  is." 

"And  have  all  flowers  honey  in  them,  mamma!" 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  dear ;  but  I  know  that  some 
flowers  have  more  honey  in  them  than  others." 

"And  how  do  bees  get  honey  from  flowers  ■?" 

"  Look,  and  you  may  see  a  bee  now  settling  upon 
that  honeysuckle  in  the  arbour :  you  will  see  all  that  I 
have  seen,  if  you  use  your  own  little  eyes." 

Frank  used  his  own  little  eyes :  and  he  saw  that  the 
bee  stretched  out  his  proboscis,  or  trunk,  and  put  it 
down  into  the  flower,  then  drew  it  back  again,  and  flew 
to  another  part  of  the  flower,  settled  again,  and  again 
put  down  its  proboscis,  drew  it  back,  and  put  it  to  its 
mouth. 

"  I  fancy,  mamma,  the  bee  sucks  the  honey,  which  it 
gets  in  the  flower,  from  its  proboscis,  every  time  it  puts 
it  to  its  mouth — but  I  am  not  sure,  because  I  do  not  see 
the  honey." 

"  You  are  very  right  not  to  say  that  you  are  sure  of 
it,  as  you  do  not  see  it ;  but  I  believe  that  the  bee  does, 
as  you  say,  draw  the  honey  from  flowers  with  that  pro- 
boscis ;  and  then  he  puts  the  honey  into  his  mouth,  and 
then  swallows  the  honey.  "With  a  good  magnifying- 
glass,  you  might  see  that  the  proboscis  of  the  bee  is 
rough,  and  you  might  see  tlie  little  drops  of  honey  stick- 
ing to  it.  The  bee  gets  but  one  or  two  very  small  drops 
of  honey  from  one  flower." 

"  What  a  great  deal  of  work  it  must  be,  then,  for  the 
bees  to  collect  as  much  honey  as  I  ate  this  morning  at 
breakfast!  But,  mamma,  does  this  bee  swallow  all  the 
honey  it  gets  from  this  flower  V 

"Yes,  the  bee  swallows  it;  it  keeps  the  honey  in  a 
little  bag,  and  the  bee  has  the  power  of  forcing  it  up 
again  from  this  bag,  whenever  it  pleases.  Usually,  the 
bee  carries  the  honey  home  to  the  hive,  and  puts  it  in 


*i-^ 


FRANK.  59  ; 

the  little  waxen  cells ;  such  as  those  you  saw  in  the 
honeycomb  to-day  at  breakfast." 

"And  where  do  the  bees  get  the  wax,  mamma,  of 
which  they  make  the  cells  in  the  honeycomb  V 

"  1  am  not  sure,  my  dear,  what  that  wax  is — I  believe 
that  it  is  made  partly  of  farina  which  the  bees  collect 
from  the  flowers,  and  partly  of  some  sticky  substance 
in  the  stomachs  of  bees.  Some  time  or  other  you  will 
read  the  accounts  which  have  been  written  of  bees,  and 
then  you  will  judge  for  yourself." 

Frank  looked  through  the  glass  pane  into  the  bee- 
hive ;  but  he  said,  that  the  bees  crowded  so  close  to  one 
another,  that  he  could  not  see  what  they  were  doing. 

His  mother  told  him  that  some  other  day  she  would 
bring  him  again  to  see  the  bees  at  work,  and  that,  by 
degrees,  perhaps  he  would  distinguish  them,  and  see 
what  they  were  doing- 

When  Frank  went  home,  he  said,  "  Now,  mamma, 
that  1  know  what  is  meant  by  the  bees  in  their  waxen 
cells,  may  I  learn  those  lines,  and  will  you  repeat  them 
to  me  r' 

"  It  is  troublesome  to  me,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother, 
"  to  repeat  them  so  often  over ;  but  here  is  a  book  in 
which  you  can  read  them  yourself;  and  you  may  now 
learn  them  by  rote  if  you  like  it." 


Fkank  read  the  lines  over  and  over,  and  tried  to  learn 
them  by  rote ;  and  at  last  he  could  repeat  them,  as  he 
thought,  perfectly  ;  and  one  day,  after  dinner,  he  went 
to  his  father,  and  told  him  that  he  could  repeat  some 
pretty  lines  to  him  if  he  would  give  him  leave. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  them,  Frank,"  said  his  father  ; 
"begin  and  repeat  them."  So  Frank  repeated  them, 
without  making  any  mistakes ;  and,  when  he  had  re- 
peated them,  his  father  asked  him  several  questions 
about  them,  to  try  whether  he  understood  them ;  and 
his  father  was  pleased  to  find  that  he  really  did  under- 
stand ;  and  Frank  told  him  that  his  mother  had  been  so 
good  as  to  show  him  a  glow-worm,  and  a  moth,  and  a 
beehive;  and  that  she  had  explained  to  him  all  the 
words  in  the  lines  which  he  did  not  at  first  understand. 

"  I  am  glad,  my  dear,"  said  his  father,  "  that  you  have 
had  so  much  amusement,  and  that  you  have  had  the 
perseverance  to  learn  any  thing  well  that  you  begin  to 


00  FRAI^K. 

learn.    But  pray  tell  me  why  you  have  been  contina* 

aUy  buttoning  and  unbuttoning  the  left  sleeve  of  your 
coat  while  you  have  been  talking  to  mo,  and  while  you 
were  repeating  these  verses  1" 

"  I  do  not  know,  papa,"  said  Frank,  laughing  ;  "  only 

1  remember,  that,  when  I  was  getting  the  verses  by 
rote,  and  saying  them  by  myself,  I  first  began  buttoning 
and  unbuttoning  this  sleeve,  and  then  I  could  not  say 
the  verses  so  well  without  doing  that."  : 

"  And  do  you  not  remember,  Frank,"  said  his  mother, 
♦'  that  I  spoke  to  you  several  times,  and  told  you  that  I 
was  afraid  you  would  get  a  trick,  a  habit  of  buttoning 
and  unbuttoning  that  sleeve  of  yours,  if  you  did  not  take 
care  1" 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Frank ;  "  and  I  stopped  when- 
ever you  spoke  to  me,  and  whenever  I  remembered  it : 
but  then  I  found  myself  doing  it  again  without  thinking 
of  it ;  and  now,  whenever  I  am  trying  to  recollect  any 
thing,  I  cannot  recollect  it  half  so  well  without  buttou-. 
ing  and  unbuttoning  my  sleeve." 

"  Give  me  your  right  hand,"  said  his  father. 

Frank  gave  his  hand  to  his  father. 

"  Now,"  said  his  father,  "  repeat  those  lines  to  me 
once  more." 

Frank  began — 

"  '  Stay  thy  soft-murmuring  waters,  gentle  rill ; 
Hush,  whispering  winds — '  " 

But  here  he  twitched  his  hand  which  his  father  held 
fast — 

" '  Hush,  whispering  winds — '  " 

♦'  Father,  I  cannot  say  it  while  you  hold  my  hand." 
His  father  let  go  his  hand. 

Frank  immediately  buttoned  and  unbuttoned  his 
sleeve,  and  then  repeated  very  fluently — 

"  '  Hush,  whispering  winds  ;  ye  rustling  leaves,  be  still ; 
Rest,  silver  butterflies — ' "  •    , 

But  here  his  father  caught  hold  of  his  right  hand ;  and 
he  could  get  no  further. 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  father,  "  it  would  be  very  incon- 
venient to  you  if  your  memory  was  to  depend  upon 
your  button  ;  for  you  see  that  I  can  make  you  forget  all 
you  have  to  say  in  an  instant,  by  only  catching  hold  of 
your  hand." 


FRANK.  etl 

"  But,  then,  papa,  if  you  would  be  so  good  as  not  to- 
catch  hold  of  my  hand,"  said  Frank,  "  you  would  hear 
how  well  I  could  repeat  the  lines." 

"  It  is  of  little  consequence,"  said  his  father, "  whether 
you  repeat  these  lines  to-day  or  to-morrow ;  but  it  is 
of  great  consequence  that  you  should  not  learn  foolish, 
awkward  tricks  ;  therefore,  I  beg  you  will  not  say  them 
to  me  again,  till  you  can  hold  yourself  perfectly  still 
while  you  are  repeating  them." 


'  Frank's  father  and  mother  went  out  to  walk,  and 
Frank  went  with  them.  "  Oh,  I  am  glad  you  are  going 
this  way,"  said  Frank,  "  because  now  I  shall  see  the 
swing." 

His  father  had  had  a  swing  put  up  between  two  trees. 
Frank  had  seen  it  from  the  window  of  the  room  in  which 
he  slept ;  but  he  had  never  yet  been  close  to  it,  and  he 
wished  very  much  to  see  it,  and  to  swing  in  it. 

When  he  came  up  to  it,  he  found  that  there  was  a 
soft  cushion  fastened  to  the  middle  of  the  rope  of  which 
the  swing  was  made. 

One  end  of  the  rope  was  tied  round  the  trunk  of  a 
large  ash-tree,  and  the  other  end  of  the  rope  was  tied 
round  the  trunk  of  an  oak  that  was  opposite  to  the  ash. 

The  rope  was  tied  towards  the  top  of  the  trees ;  and 
some  of  the  branches  of  the  trees  were  cut  away,  so 
that  the  rope  could  swing  backwards  and  forwards  with- 
out catching  in  any  thing. 

The  cushion,  which  made  the  seat  of  the  swing,  hung 
so  near  the  ground  that  Frank  could  reach  it ;  and  he 
asked  his  father  whether  he  might  sit  upon  it. 

His  father  told  him  that  he  might :  and  he  said,  "  Take 
hold  of  the  cord  on  each  side  of  you,  and  hold  it  fast, 
and  your  mother  and  1  will  swing  you." 

Frank  jumped  up  on  the  cushion  directly,  and  seated 
himself,  and  took  hold  of  the  cord  on  each  side  of  him, 
with  each  of  his  hands. 

"  You  must  take  care  not  to  let  go  the  cord  while  we 
are  swinging  you,"  said  his  father,  "  or  perhaps  you  will 
tumble  out  of  the  swing  and  be  hurt — hold  up  your  fee  , 
that  they  may  not  touch  the  ground." 

"  I  will  not  let  go,  papa :  I  will  hold  fast,"  said  Frank : 
and  his  father  and  mother  began  to  swing  him  back- 
:wards  and  forwards  :  he  liked  it  very  much ;  but  it  was 
6 


62  FRANK. 

a  sharp  evening  in  autumn,  and  his  father  and  mother 
did  not  like  to  stand  still  long  to  swing  him. 

"  When  you  have  had  twenty  mere  swings  backwards 
and  forwards,  we  will  stop,  Frank,"  said  his  father.  So 
Frank  began  to  count  the  swings ;  and  while  he  was 
counting,  a  leaf  fell  from  the  tree,  and  put  him  out ;  and 
he  tried  to  recollect  whether  the  last  number  of  swings 
he  had  counted  to  himself  was  six  or  seven ;  and  the 
moment  he  began  to  try  to  recollect  this,  he  let  go  the 
cord  with  his  right  hand  ;  for  he  was  going  to  button  and 
unbutton  his  sleeve,  as  he  had  the  habit  of  doing  when 
he  was  trying  to  recollect  any  thing. 

The  moment  he  let  go  the  cord,  he  twisted  a  little  in 
the  seat,  and  could  not  catch  the  cord  again ;  and  he  fell 
out  of  the  swing. 

He  fell  on  the  grass,  and  he  hurt  His  ankle,  but  not 
much. 

"  It  is  well  you  were  not  more  hurt,"  said  his  father. 
"  If  we  had  been  swinging  you  higher,  and  if  you  had 
fallen  upon  the  gravel-walk  instead  of  on  the  grass,  you 
might  have  been  very  much  hurt.  My  dear,  why  did 
you  let  go  the  cord  V 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "  because  I  was  trying  to  rec- 
ollect whether  it  was  six  swings  or  seven  that  I  had 
had." 

"  Well,  and  could  not  you  recollect  that  without  let- 
ting go  the  cord  1" 

"  No,  papa — the  thing  was— that  I  was,  I  believe, 
going  to  button  my  sleeve — I  wish  I  had  not  that  trick." 

"  You  may  cure  yourself  of  it,  if  you  take  pains  to  do 
so,"  said  his  father. 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  said  Frank :  "  my  ankle  is  not  very 
much  hurt,  however.  Papa,  will  you  put  me  into  the 
swing  again,  and  I  think  I  shall  take  more  care  not  to 
let  go  the  cord  now — you  know  I  have  not  had  all  my 
twenty  swings,  papja." 

"  No :  you  have  had  but  eight,"  said  his  father;  "but 
I  am  afraid,  that  if  I  were  to  put  you  into  the  swing 
again,  and  if  you  were  to  begin  counting  again,  if  you 
should  not  be  able  to  recollect  the  number,  you  would 
let  go  the  cord  to  button  your  sleeve,  and  you  would 
slip  out  of  the  swing  again." 

"  No,  papa,"  said  Frank,  "  I  think  this  is  the  very 
thing  that  would  cure  me  of  that  trick,  because  that  I 
do  not  like  to  tumble  down  and  hurt  myself;  and  I  think 


FRANK.  .  -63 

I  should  take  care,  and  count,  and  recollect,  without 
buttoning  or  unbuttoning  this  sleeve — may  I  try,  papa  ]" 

His  father  shook  hands  with  him,  and  said,  "  I  am 
glad  to  see  that  you  can  bear  a  little  pain,  and  that  you 
wish  to  cure  yourself  of  this  foolish  trick — jump,  my 
boy,"  said  his  father:  and  Frank  sprung  up,  and  his 
father  seated  him  in  the  swing  again. 
■  He  counted,  and  held  fast  by  the  rope,  this  time ;  and 
just  when  he  was  come  to  the  eighteenth  swing,  his 
father  said  to  him,  "  Can  you  recollect  the  last  number 
you  counted,  without  letting  go  the  rope  to  button  your 
sleeve  1" 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  Frank,  "  I  can :  it  was  seventeen." 

"  And  you  have  had  two  swings  since  I  spoke  last ; 
how  many  does  that  make  1" 

Frank  was  just  going  to  let  go  the  cord  to  button  his 
sleeve ;  but  he  recollected  his  former  tumble — he  held 
fast;  and,  after  thinking  for  an  instant,  answered, 
*'  Seventeen  swings  and  two  swings  make  nineteen 
swings." 

His  father  then  gave  him  one  good  swing  more,  and 
then  lifted  him  out ;  and  his  mother  kissed  him. 

The  next  day  his  father  was  going  from  home  ;  and 
when  he  took  leave  of  Frank,  Frank  asked  him  if  there 
was  any  thing  he  could  do  for  him  while  he  was  away. 
"  May  I  dust  the  books  in  your  study,  papa  ?  I  can  do 
that,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  would  rather,  my  dear,"  said  his  father,  "  that  you 
should,  while  I  am  away,  learn  to  repeat  the  lines  which 
you  got  by  heart,  without — " 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  papa;  I  will  try  if  I  can." 

His  father  went  away ;  and  Frank,  after  he  was  gone, 
asked  his  mother  if  she  would  take  him  to  the  swing,  and 
swing  him,  and  let  him  try  whether  he  could  recollect 
some  of  the  verses  while  he  was  swinging ;  "  For  then, 
you  know,  mamma,  I  cannot  move  my  hands  without 
tumbling  out ;  and  I  shall  take  care." 

But  his  mother  said  that  she  did  not  choose  to  swing 
him  while  his  father  was  away ;  and  Frank  soon  after- 
ward said,  "  Will  you  be  so  good,  then,  mamma,  as  to 
cut  off  this  button,  and  to  sew  up  this  buttonhole  for 
me  1  and  then  I  cannot  button  and  unbutton  it." 

His  mother  cut  oif  the  button,  and  sewed  up  the  but- 
tonhole ;  and  several  times,  when  he  was  trying  to  re- 
peat the  lines,  he  felt  for  the  button  and  buttonhole; 


64  FRANK. 

but  when  he  found  that  the  button  was  gone,  and  that 
he  could  not  put  his  finger  into  the  buttonhole,  he  by 
degrees  left  off  feeling  for  them. 

His  father  stayed  away  a  week ;  and  in  this  time 
Frank  quite  cured  himself  of  the  foolish  trick  which  he 
had  had,  and  he  repeated  the  Unes  to  himself,  while  he 
held  his  hands  quite  still. 

He  asked  his  mother  to  sew  on  the  button  again,  and 
to  open  the  buttonhole,  the  day  his  father  came  home; 
and  she  did  so. 

And  when  his  father  came  home,  and  after  he  had 
said,  "  How  do  you  do,  father  V  Frank  cried,  "  May  I 
say  the  hnes  now,  father !"  \  ; 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

He  stood  opposite  to  his  father,  held  his  hands  per- 
fectly still,  and  repeated  the  lines  without  making  a  sin- 
gle mistake. 

His  father  was  pleased ;  and  he  desired  the  servant, 
who  was  bringing  some  things  of  his  out  of  the  chaise 
in  which  he  came,  to  give  him  a  book  that  was  in  the 
front  pocket  of  the  ohaise. 

The  book  was  Bewick's  History  of  Quadrupeds :  it 
had  very  pretty  prints  in  it.  Frank's  father  wrote  in  a 
blank  page  at  the  beginning  of  it — 

"  This  book  was  given  to  Frank,  October  the  27th,  1798, 
by  his  father,  as  a  mark  of  his  father's  approbation  for  his 
having,  at  six  years  old,  cured  himself  of  a  foolish  habit  " 

"  Read  that,  if  you  can,  Frank,"  said  his  father. 

Frank  could  not  read  all  the  words,  for  he  was  not 
used  to  read  writing ;  but  his  mother  read  it  to  him. 

And  Frank  liked  the  prints  in  this  book  very  much ; 
and  he  said,  "Shall  I  read  all  that  is  in  the  book, 
papa  1" 

"  Read  only  what  you  can  understand,  and  what  en- 
tertains you  in  it,  my  dear,"  said  his  father. 


Frank  was  kneeling  upon  the  chair  beside  the  table 
upon  which  his  mother  was  writing.  He  was  looking 
at  the  prints  in  his  Bewick ;  and  every  minute  he  ex- 
claimed, "  O  mamma,  look  at  this  ! — mamma,  here  is  a 
very  pretty  print !    Only  look  at  this  one,  mamma — the 


FRANK.  6^ 

old,  old  man,  going  over  a  narrow  bridge,  and  his  dog 
leading  him — he  is  a  blind  man,  I  suppose ;  and  the 
wind  has  blown  his  hat  off,  and  it  is  raining  very  hard 
— pray  look,  mamma !" 

His  mother  put  down  her  pen ;  and  she  looked  at  the 
print,  which  she  said  was  very  pretty. 

"  But  now,  Frank,"  added  she,  "  do  not  interrupt  me 
any  more." 

Frank  was  silent  after  this ;  but,  whenever  he  turned 
over  a  new  leaf,  he  put  down  both  his  elbows  upon  the 
table  to  look  at  the  new  print ;  and  he  shook  the  table 
so  that  his  mother  could  not  write :  wherefore  she  at 
last  desired  him  to  take  his  book  to  another  table. 

He  did  so ;  but  he  said  that  he  could  not  see  nearly 
so  well  as  when  he  was  nearer  to  the  light. 

"  If  you  had  not  disturbed  me,"  said  his  mother,  "  I 
should  not  have  sent  you  away  from  this  table.  You 
should  consider  what  is  agreeable  to  others,  or  they  will 
not  consider  what  is  agreeable  to  you." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  if  you  will  let  me  come 
back  to  the  table  where  you  are  sitting,  I  will  take  care 
not  to  shake  the  table." 

His  mother  told  Frank  that  he  might  come ;  and  he 
took  care  not  to  shake  the  table. 

A  little  while  after  this,  he  was  trying  to  draw  the  old 
man  going  over  the  bridge.  Pompey,  a  little  dog  that 
was  in  the  room,  jumped  up  suddenly  behind  Frank's 
chair,  and  shook  the  table. 

"  Fy !  Pompey  !  fy  ! — down !  down !"  cried  Frank— 
"  I  don't  like  you,  Pompey,  at  all." 

"  Why  don't  you  like  Pompey  V  said  Frank's  mother 
— "  you  generally  are  very  fond  of  him." 

"  Yes,  mamma,  so  I  am  fond  of  him,  generally ;  but  I 
don't  like  him  now,  because  he  shook  me,  and  hindered 
me  drawing.  Oh,  Pompey !  Pompey !  again  you  gave 
my  elbow  a  great  shake — look,  mamma,  just  as  I  was 
drawing  the  old  man's  nose,  he  shook  me." 

"  Who  1  the  old  man  i" 

"  No,  mamma,  but  Pompey.  Just  as  I  was  drawing 
the  old  man's  nose,  Pompey  shook  me,  and  made  me 
make  the  old  man's  nose  as  large  as  his  whole  head — 
Oh,  Pompey !  you  have  spoiled  my  old  man  entirely— 
but  I'll  rub  out  his  nose,  and  draw  it  over  again." 

Just  as  Frank  had  finished  drawing  the  old  man's 
nose  over  again,  the  dog  shook  him  again :  and  Frank 


^ 


FRANK. 


was  angry.  "  Don't  shake,  Pompey — ^I  have  bid  you 
several  times  not  to  shake,  and  still  you  go  on  shaking 
—naughty  Pompey  !  Why  don't  you  do  as  you  are  bid  ?" 

"  Perhaps  the  dog  does  not  understand  you,"  said 
Prank's  mother. 

"  Well,  but  it  is  very  disagreeable  that  he  should 
shake  the  table.     I  don't  like  him  at  all  to-night." 

Here  Frank  began  struggling  with  Pompey.  Pompey 
had  his  fore  paws  upon  the  table,  and  Frank  was  trying 
to  drag  him  back  by  the  hind  legs ;  but  all  this  strug- 
gling shook  the  table  very  much. 

"  Frank,  I  don't  hke  either  you  or  Pompey,  now," 
said  Frank's  mother,  "  because  you  both  of  you  shake 
the  table,  so  that  I  cannot  write.  Look,  here  is  an  O 
that  is  as  crooked  as  your  old  man's  nose." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  mamma,"  said  Frank ;  "  but  will 
you  be  so  kind  as  to  put  Pompey  out  of  the  room ;  and 
then  we  shall  all  be  quiet  and  happy.  You  know  you 
sent  me  to  another  table  when  I  was  troublesome ;  and 
now  if  you  put  Pompey  out  of  the  room,  he  cannot  be 
troublesome  to  us  any  more." 

"  Very  true,"  said  his  mother;  and  she  put  Pompey 
out  of  the  room. 

"  I  am  glad  he  is  gone,"  cried  Frank ;  "  now  I  can 
draw  nicely." 

"  And  now  I  can  write  nicely,"  said  his  mother. 

*'  Mamma,  are  you  glad  when  I  go  out  of  the  room 
after  I  have  been  troublesome,  as  we  are  now  that  we 
have  got  rid  of  Pompey  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  But  when  I  am  not  troublesome,  you  are  not  glad 
when  I  go  out  of  the  room  ]" 

"  No  ;  I  am  glad  to  have  you  with  me  when  you  sxe 
not  troublesome." 

♦'  And  you  are  more  glad  to  have  me  with  you  when 
I  am  useful  to  you,  as  I  was  yesterday,  when  I  helped 
you  to  cut  open  the  leaves  of  those  new  books  which 
you  wanted  to  read.  You  liked  me  very  much  then, 
when  you  said  I  was  useful  to  you." 

"  Yes ;  people  like  those  that  are  useful  to  them.' 

"  And  I  like  to  be  liked,  mamma,  by  you  more  than 
by  anybody,  so  I  will  try  always  to  be  as  useful  to  you 
as  I  can.  I  can  be  useful  to  you  now,  mamma,  if  you 
will  give  me  leave." 

"  I  will  give  you  leave,  and  welcome,  Frank,"  said 


PRAKK.  6^ 

ills  iHother,  sftiiling.  So  Frank  went  for  a  little  bit  of 
wood  which  his  father  had  given  to  him ;  and  he  cut  it 
with  his  knife  into  the  shape  of  a  wedge ;  and  he  put 
this  wedge  under  one  of  the  legs  of  the  table,  which 
was  shorter  than  the  other  legs  ;  and  the  table  was  now 
much  steadier  than  it  was  before. 

"  Now,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  try  to  shake  the  table, 
and  you  will  feel  how  steady  it  is.  I  can  put  my  elbow 
upon  it  now  without  shaking  it ;  and  I  dare  say,  even 
Pompey  would  not  shake  it  if  he  was  to  leap  up  as  he 
did  just  now.     Is  not  my  wedge  useful,  mamma  V* 

";  Yes  ;  thank  you  for  it,  my  dear." 

"  And  now,  mamma,  may  I  open  the  door  and  let 
poor  Pompey  in  again,  for  he  cannot  easily  shake  us 
now  ?" 

Frank's  mother  told  him  that  he  might  let  Pompey 
in  again ;  and  when  Frank  opened  the  door,  he  saw 
Pompey  sitting  upon  his  hind  legs,  holding  something 
up  in  his  fore  paws. 

"  O  mamma,  it  is  my  glove,"  cried  Frank;  "the glove 
that  I  lost  yesterday.  Useful  Pompey !  I  like  you  for 
finding  my  glove.  Useful  Pompey !  Come  in,  useful 
Pompey !" 


One  evening  at  tea-time  there  was  a  small  plumcake 
upon  a  plate  on  the  tea-table ;  and  there  was  a  knife  be- 
side the  plate.  Frank's  father  and  mother,  and  two  of 
liis  brothers,  were  sitting  round  the  table ;  his  mother 
was  beginning  to  pour  out  the  tea  ;  and  she  called  to 
Frank,  and  said  to  him,  "  My  dear,  cut  this  plumcake 
into  five  pieces  for  us ;  and  take  care  that  you  make  all 
the  pieces  of  the  same  size,  for  your  father,  and  your 
two  brothers,  and  yourself,  and  me ;  and  give  us  each  a 
just  share." 

Frank  began  to  cut  the  cake ;  but,  by  mistake,  lie 
divided  it  into  six  parts  instead  of  into  five. 

"  Mamma,"  said  he,  "  what  shall  I  do  with  this  bit  I 
I  have  five  without  it ;  one  for  you,  and  one  for  my 
father,  and  one  for  my  brother  Edward,  and  one  for  my 
brother  Harry,  and  one  for  myself.  What  shall  I  do 
with  this  bit  that  is  left  ?" 

"  What  is  it  most  just  to  do  with  it  T' 

**^I  thiiJt  I  had  better  keep  it  myself,  mamma,  be-' 


68  FRANK. 

cause  it  belongs  to  nobody  ;  and  I  should  have  it  for  the 
trouble  of  cutting  the  cake  for  everybod}'." 

"  No,"  said  his  brother  Henry,  "  I  do  not  think  thai 
would  be  just,  because  then  you  would  be  rewarded  for 
making  a  mistake ;  if  you  had  cut  the  cake  rightly, 
there  would  not  be  this  bit  to  spare." 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  "  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  just 
that  I  should  have  it ;  but  who,  then,  shall  I  give  it  to  ? 
I  will  give  it  to  you,  mamma,  because  I  like  to  give  it 
to  you  best.  No,  I  will  give  it  to  papa,  because  he  likes 
plumcake  better  than  you  do.  Stay,  I  will  give  it  to 
you,  good  Henry,  because  you  mended  my  kite  for  me. 
No,  indeed,  I  must  give  it  to  poor  Edward,  because 
he  had  no  cherry-pie  to-day  at  dinner." 

"  But,"  said  his  mother,  "  what  right  have  you, 
Frank,  to  give  this  bit  of  cake  to  poor  Edward,  because 
he  had  no  cherry-pie  to-day  at  dinner ;  or  to  good 
Henry,  because  he  mended  your  kite  ;  or  to  yoiu"  father, 
because  he  loves  plumcake  better  than  I  do ;  or  to  me, 
because  you  like  to  give  it  to  me  ]  What  right  have 
you  to  give  it  to  any  of  us  V 

"  Mamma,  you  said  that  I  was  to  give  each  of  you 
your  just  share  ;  and  I  thought  I  was  to  be  judge." 

"  Remember,  that  I  desired  you  to  divide  the  cake 
into  five  pieces,  all  of  the  same  size  ;  you  were  to  judge 
about  the  size  of  the  pieces ;  and  you  were  to  take  care 
that  we  have  each  our  just  shares;  but  you  are  going 
to  give  one  of  us  twice  as  much  as  any  of  the  others." 

"  I  cannot  make  the  pieces  the  right  size  now, 
mamma." 

"  But  you  can  give  us  each  equal  quantities  of  cake, 
cannot  youl" 

"How,  mammal" 

*'  Think — when  you  are  trusted  to  divide  any  thing, 
you  must  take  the  trouble,  Mr.  Judge,  to  consider  how 
it  is  to  be  done  fairly." 

Frank  took  the  trouble  to  think ;  and  he  then  cut  the 
spare  bit  of  cake  into  five  equal  parts  ;  and  he  put  these 
parts  by  the  side  of  the  five  large  pieces  of  cake ;  and 
he  gave  one  of  the  large  pieces  and  one  of  the  little 
pieces  to  each  person ;  and  he  then  said,  ''  I  believe  I 
have  divided  the  cake  fairly  now."  Everybody  pres- 
ent saidj'  Yes ;"  and  everybody  looked  carefully  at  each 
of  the  shares ;  and  there  appeared  exactly  the  same 
quantity  in  each  share.    So  each  person  took  his  per- 


FRANK.  C9 

tion ;  and  all  were  satisfied.    Justice  satisfies  every- 
body. 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "  as  you  have  di- 
vided the  cake  so  fairly,  let  us  see  how  you  will  divide 
the  sugar  that  was  upon  the  top  of  the  cake,  and  wliich 
is  now  broken  and  crumbled  to  pieces  upon  the  plate. 
We  all  like  that  sugar ;  divide  it  equally  among  us." 

"  But  this  will  be  very  difficult  to  do,  mamma,"  said 
Frank,  "  because  the  pieces  of  sugar  are  all  of  such  dif- 
ferent sizes  and  shapes ;  and  here  are  so  many  crumbs 
of  cake  mixed  with  the  crumbs  of  sugar,  I  do  not  know 
how  I  shall  ever  divide  it  exactly.  Will  it  do  if  I  do 
not  divide  quite  exactly,  mamma  V 

"  No,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  beg  you  will  divide  it  quite 
exactly :  you  can  do  it  if  you  take  the  right  way  to 
do  it." 

Frank  first  took  out  all  the  largest  bits  of  sugar,  and 
laid  them  upon  one  another,  and  broke  off  the  comers 
and  edges  till  he  thought  he  made  five  of  them  of  the 
same  size  exactly;  and  then  he  divided  the  crumbs 
and  little  broken  bits  into  five  heaps,  which  he  thought 
seemed  to  be  of  the  same  size. 

But  when  he  had  done,  his  brother  Henry  said,  "This 
heap  next  me  is  a  great  deal  larger  than  any  one  of  the 
others." 

And  Edward  said,  "  My  heap  is  taller  than  yours,  but 
it  is  not  so  closely  squeezed  together ;  and  that  makes 
a  great  difference." 

And  his  father  said,  "  Frank,  my  large  bit  of  sugar  is 
twice  as  big  as  your  largest  bit." 

"  O  no,  indeed,  papa,  I  measured  them ;  and  they  are 
exactly  the  same  size ;  put  yours  upon  mine,  and  you 
shall  see.  Look,  papa — not  the  least  comer,  or  crumb, 
difference." 

"  They  are  of  the  same  length  and  breadth,  I  acknowl- 
edge," said  his  father ;  "  but  they  are  not  of  the  same 
thickness." 

*'  Oh,  thickness !  I  never  thought  of  thickness." 

*'  But  you  should  think  of  it,"  said  his  father  ;  "  be- 
cause— look  here — if  I  were  to  cut  my  bit  of  sugar,  which 
is  twice  as  thick  as  yours,  into  two  slices,  each  of  those 
slices  would  be  as  long,  and  as  broad,  and  as  tbick  as 
your  bit  is  now,  and  I  should  have  two  bits  of  the  same 
siae  as  yours — twice  as  much  as  you." 

*'  Ah !  80  you  would.    Thickness  does  make  a  great 


70  FRANK. 

difference.  Then  how  shall  I  manage  ?  for,  if  I  begin 
to  cut  the  sugar,  in  your  way,  in  slices — look,  papa,  it 
all  crumbles — indeed,  the  crumbs  are  the  most  easily 
divided.  I  will  crumble  it  all,  and  then  divide  the 
crumbs  among  you,  and  then  1  shall  have  no  difficulty 
about  the  thickness." 

So  Frank  poimded  the  sugar  with  a  spoon  till  it  was 
all  become  a  fine  powder,  and  then  he  divided  it  into 
heaps  ;  but  still,  people  did  not  agree  that  his  heaps  were 
all  of  the  same  size. 

"  We  can  measure  them,"  said  Frank ;  and  he  put  one 
of  the  heaps  into  a  teaspoon;  it  did  not  quite  fill  the 
spoon — another  of  the  heaps  filled  the  spoon  higher  than 
the  brim — another  was  exactly  a  spoonful.  Frank  added 
to  one  heap,  and  took  from  another. 

"  You  squeeze  the  sugar  in  the  spoon,  and  that  will 
make  more  go  in  than  there  should,"  said  Henry. 

"  Indeed,  indeed,"  said  Frank,  "  it  cannot  be  divided 
more  exactly.  It  is  impossible  to  divide  the  sugar  more 
exactly  than  I  have  done  it  now ;  is  not  it,  mamma  1" 

"  I  cannot  say  that  it  is  impossible  to  divide  it  more 
exactly,"  said  his  mother,  smiling ;  "  but,  as  far  as  I  can 
guess,  by  looking  at  your  heaps,  they  seem  to  be  of  the 
same  size  ;  I  cannot,  however,  be  sure,  merely  by  look- 
ing at  them,  that  they  contain  exactly  equal  quantities." 

"  How  then  could  you  be  sure  1  I  do  not  feel  any 
difference,  mamma.  Perhaps  I  could  find  out  by  weigh- 
ing them  in  a  pair  of  scales.  Papa,  will  you  be  so  good 
as  to  lend  me  the  scales  in  which  you  were  weighing — 
money,  I  believe,  yesterday]" 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  his  father ;  "  the  saucers  of  those 
scales  are  made  of  brass ;  and  you  must  not  put  any 
thing  that  you  are  going  to  eat  near  brass,  because  the 
rust  of  brass  is  poisonous.  I  will  lend  you  another  pair 
of  scales,  which  are  made  of  ivory,  and  in  these  you 
may  weigh  your  sugar.  Go  for  these  scales ;  they  are 
upon  the  table  that  is  on  the  righthand  side  of  the 
window  in  my  study.  As  you  are  used  to  find  your 
way  about  the  house  in  the  dark,  you  will  readily  find 
what  you  want." 

Frank  found  the  scales,  and  weighed  his  heaps  of 
sugar  very  carefully.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that 
there  was  so  much  difference  in  the  weight  of  the  heaps, 
which  he  thought  were  exactly  of  the  same  size.  By 
patiently  adding  and  taking  away,  he  at  last,  however, 


FRANK*  71 

made  them  each  of  the  same  weiefht,  and  everybody 
Was  then  satisfied  with  the  accuracy  of  his  division. 

"  Now,  Frank,  eat  your  own  share  of  cake,  and  drink 
this  dish  of  tea,  which  has  grown  quite  cold  while  you 
have  been  dividing  and  weighing,"  said  his  mother. 
And  while  Frank  and  his  brothers  were  eating  their 
shares  of  plumcake,  Frank's  father  said,  that  if  they 
pleased,  he  would  read  a  short  story  to  them. 

The  boys  said  they  should  like  to  hear  a  story;  and 
the  story  that  he  read  was  out  of  Sandford  and  Merton 
— Cyrus's  judgment  about  two  coats. 


One  day  Frank  went  with  his  mother  to  a  shop  in 
town :  it  was  a  shop  where  gloves,  and  ribands,  and 
caps,  and  hats,  were  sold.  His  mother,  after  she  had 
bought  some  gloves  which  she  wanted,  went  into  a 
little  room  behind  the  shop  to  see  a  poor  girl  who 
was  ill. 

"  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "  stay  in  this  shop  till  I 
come  back  again." 

Frank  stayed  in  the  shop ;  and  while  he  was  there,  a 
carriage  stopped  at  the  door ;  and  a  lady  got  out  of  the 
carriage  and  came  into  the  shop  where  Frank  was ; 
she  asked  to  look  at  some  ribands ;  and,  while  the  shop- 
man was  looking  in  some  little  drawers  for  ribands,  the 
lady  turned  to  look  at  Frank,  and  said,  "  Does  this  little 
boy  belong  to  you  l"  meaning  the  shopkeeper. 

*'  O  no,  ma'am  ;  he  belongs  to  a  lady  who  is  just  gone 
into  the  next  room  ;"  and  the  shopkeeper  mentioned  the 
name  of  Frank's  mother. 

The  moment  the  lady  heard  this,  she  smiled  at  Frank, 
called  him  to  her,  kissed  him,  and  told  him  he  was  sr 
charming  little  creature.  She  then  asked  him  several 
questions,  and  Frank  was  pleased  by  her  smiling  at  him 
and  praising  him  ;  and  he  began  to  talk  to  her ;  and  then 
she  said  he  was  the  finest  boy  she  had  ever  seen  in  her 
life,  and  he  liked  her  still  better. 

She  was  rolling  up  some  riband  in  a  paper,  upon 
which  some  words  were  printed;  and  she  asked  him 
whether  he  could  read  any  of  those  words :  "  Oh  yes,'* 
said  Frank ;  and  he  read  "  Sarsnets,  modes,  and  peel- 
ings— the  most  fashionable  assortment." 

The  lady  stopped  his  mouth  by  kissing  him  ;  and  she 
told  him  he  was  a  very  clever  fellow  indeed. 


72  FRAWK. 

Frank  thought  he  should  appear  to  her  still  cleverer, 
if  be  repeated  the  pretty  verses  which  he  had  learned 
by  heart.  "  O  what  a  memory  he  has !  I  never  heard 
any  thing  so  well  repeated  1"  exclaimed  the  lady. 

Frank  went  on  to  tell  her  the  history  of  his  having 
cured  himself  of  the  trick  of  buttoning  and  unbuttoning 
his  coal :  and  he  told  her  that  his  father  had  given  him 
a  book :  and  he  repeated,  word  for  word,  what  his  father 
had  written  at  the  beginning  of  his  book. 

To  all  this  the  lady  listened  with  a  smiling  counte- 
nance ;  and  Frank  was  going  on  talking  about  himself, 
■when  his  mother  came  out  of  the  room  at  the  back  of 
the  shop ;  and  she  called  Frank,  and  took  him  home 
with  her. 

The  next  day,  his  mother,  who  usually  let  Frank  read 
to  her  a  little  every  day,  told  him  that  he  might  bring 
his  book  to  her  and  read.     He  began  to  read,  and  he 
made  several  mistakes  ;  and  his  mother  said,  "Frank,, 
you  are  not  minding  what  you  are  about  this  morning." 

Frank  read  on  more  carefully ;  and  when  he  had  read 
about  half  a  page,  without  making  any  mistake,  he 
stopped  short,  and  said  to  his  mother,  "  But,  mamma, 
you  do  not  praise  me  as  the  lady  in  the  shop  did." 

"  I  do  not  flatter  you,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother. 

"  What  is  flattering  me,  mamma  ?" 

"  Flattering  you,  my  dear,  is  praising  you  more  thaa 
you  deserve  to  be  praised." 

"  Did  the  lady  in  the  shop  flatter  me,  mammal" 

"  I  do  not  know,  for  I  was  not  by :  I  did  not  hear 
what  she  said." 

"She  said — I  feel,  mamma,  I  do  not  know  why, 
ashamed  to  tell  you  all  she  said  to  me.  She  said  I  was 
a  charming  little  creature,  and  that  I  was  the  finest 
boy  she  had  ever  seen  in  her  life ;  and  she  said  I  was 
a  very  clever  littlt  boy  indeed,  when  I  read  something 
about  sarsnets  and  modes  that  was  printed  on  a  paper, 
in  which  she  was  rolling  up  some  riband ;  and  when  I 
repeated  the  verses  to  her,  mamma,  she  said  she  never 
heard  any  thing  so  well  repeated  in  her  life." 

"  Ajiid  did  you  believe  all  this,  Frank !" 

"  Not  quite,  mamma — I  made  some  mistakes  when  I 
was  repeating  the  verses ;  and  she  did  not  take  notice 
of  them." 

"  And  did  you  understand  what  you  read  about  sars- 
nets and  modes  ]" 


FRANK.  7B 

"  O  mamma,  I  was  sure  you  would  aSk  that  question ! 
How  came  it  that  the  lady  never  asked  me  that.  And 
there  was  something  about  fashionable  assortment — she 
kissed  me  for  reading  that ;  and  all  the  time  I  did  not 
understand  those  words.  When  you  kiss  me,  and  praise 
me,  mamma,  I  feel  quite  sure  that  I  have  done  some- 
thing well,  or  good;  I  know  what  you  are  pleased  with 
me  for;  but  I  did  not  know  exactly  why  that  lady  was 
80  much  pleased  with  me  ;  do  you  know,  mamma?" 

"  No,  my  dear ;  and  I  am  not  sure  that  she  was  much 
pleased  with  you." 

"  O  yes,  mamma,  I  think  she  really  was  very  much 
pleased  with  me,  though  she  was  a  foolish  woman,  and 
did  not  know  why." 

"  Did  not  know  why  she  was  a  foolish  woman^  do  you 
mean  ?" 

"  No,  mamma ;  but  did  not  know  why  she  was  pleased 
with  me." 

"In  that  respect,"  said  his  mother,  laughing,  "it 
seems  that  you  were  as  foolish  as  she  was." 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  why  are  not  you  quite 
sure  that  she  liked  me  T" 

"Because,  my  dear,  I  have  often  heard  people  tell 
children  that  they  were  sweet  creatures,  and  charming 
dears,  and  clever  fellows ;  and  I  have  observed,  that 
these  people  forget  the  charming  dears  as  soon  as  they 
are  out  of  sight." 

"  You  and  my  father  never  do  so ;  do  you !" 

"  Never." 

"  I  had  rather  that  you  and  papa  should  praise  me, 
and  like  me,  than  the  lady  I  saw  in  the  shop.  I  think  I 
was  very  foolish  to  tell  her  what  my  father  wrote  in 
my  book,  because  I  suppose  she  did  not  care  about  it.^ 

"  You  will  be  wiser  another  time,"  said  his  mother. 
"  Now  put  on  your  hat,  and  let  us  go  to  look  at  the  bees 
at  work  in  the  glass  beehive." 

They  went  to  the  old  woman's  cottage ;  and  the  lit- 
tle boy  opened  the  garden- gate  :  and  Frank  went  to  the 
beehive  to  observe  the  bees,  while  his  mother  sat  down 
in  the  arbour,  and  took  a  book  out  of  her  pocket,  in 
which  she  read  for  some  time.  It  entertained  Frank 
more  to-day  to  look  at  the  bees  than  it  did  the  first 
morning  he  came  to  look  at  them,  because  he  saw  more 
distinctly  what  they  were  doing.  And  when  he  had 
attended  to  the  bees  as  long  as  he  liked,  he  went  to  the 

7  n 


74  PRANK. 

arbour  where  his  mother  was  sitting ;  and  he  asked  her 
whether  he  might  go  and  talk  to  the  little  boy  who  was 
now  weeding  in  the  garden. 

His  mother  said  that  she  would  rather  that  he  shouW 
not  talk  to  this  little  boy ;  but  she  went  to  him  herself, 
and  thanked  him  for  letting  Frank  look  at  his  beehive; 
and  she  told  him  that,  if  he  would  come  to  her  house, 
she  would  give  him  a  pair  of  strong  shoes. 

Then  she  took  Frank  by  the  hand,  and  went  to  the 
cottage. 

Somebody  was  talking  to  the  old  woman  very  eagerly 
about  washing  a  gown. 

The  person  who  was  talking  was  a  maidservant ;  and 
she  had  a  muslin  gown  in  her  hand,  which,  she  said,  her 
mistress  had  desired  her  to  take  to  be  washed. 

This  old  woman  was  a  washerwoman. 

"  Look  here  !"  said  the  maid,  showing  the  bottom  of 
the  muslin  gown,  on  which  there  were  the  marks  of 
shoes  which  had  trodden  upon  it,  and  on  which  there 
was  a  mark  of  a  large  hole  that  had  been  mended ; 
"  Look  here !  what  a  piece  of  work  1  have  had  this 
morning.  Yesterday,  my  mistress  came  home  with  her 
gown  torn  and  dirtied  in  this  manner :  and  she  told  me 
it  was  all  done  by  a  little  mischievous,  troublesome,  con- 
ceited brat  of  a  boy,  that  she  met  with  in  the  nailliner's 
shop  at ,  where  she  was  yesterday." 

While  the  maid  was  saying  this,  she  did  not  see  Frank 
or  his  mother;  for  her  back  was  turned  towards  the 
door  through  which  they  came. 

"  O  mamma !"  cried  Frank,  "  I  remember  that  was 
the  gown  the  lady  had  on  who  called  me  a  charming 
little  fellow,  and  who  praised,  I  mean  the  other  word, 
flattered  me  so  much ;  but  now  she  calls  me  a  little  mis- 
chievous, troublesome,  conceited  brat,  only  because  I 
trod  upon  her  gown  by  accident,  and  tore  it.  I  did  not 
know  I  had  torn  it — I  remember  I  caught  my  foot  in  it 
when  you  called  me  to  come  away  with  you.  Mamma, 
if  I  had  torn  or  dirtied  your  gown,  I  do  not  think  you 
would  have  been  so  angry  with  me.  The  next  time  any- 
body begins  to  flatter  me,  and  to  tell  me  I  am  a  charming 
little  dear,  I  shall  recollect  all  this  :  and  I  shall  not  repeat 
my  verses,  nor  tell  them  what  papa  wrote  in  my  book." 


PRANK.  '^ 


Frank,  who  had  seen  the  little  boy  to  whom  the  bee- 
hive belonged  weeding  the  beds  in  the  garden,  said  to 
his  mother  one  morning,  "  Mamma,  I  should  like  to  try 
to  weed  some  of  the  borders  in  your  garden,  as  that 
little  boy  weeds  the  beds  in  his  grandmother's  garden." 

Frank's  mother  said  that  he  might  weed  one  of  the 
borders  in  her  garden ;  and  she  lent  him  a  little  hoe,  and 
he  went  to  work,  and  weeded  a  piece  of  the  border  very 
carefully;  and  his  mother  looked  at  it  when  he  had 
done,  and  said  that  it  was  very  well  done. 

The  same  day,  at  dinner,  Frank's  father  gave  him  a 
bit  of  cheese ;  and  his  mother  was  surprised  to  see 
Frank  take  this  cheese  off  his  plate,  and.  put  it  between 
his  forefinger  and  middlefinger;  then  he  took  a  piece 
of  bread,  and  stuck  it  between  his  middlefinger  and  his 
fourth  finger,  and  then  he  took  a  large  mouthful  of  the 
cheese,  and  a  large  mouthful  of  the  bread,  so  that  his 
mouth  was  filled  in  a  very  disagreeable  manner. 

"  Pray,  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "what  are  you  about?" 

Frank's  mouth  was  not  empty  for  nearly  a  minute ; 
and  he  could  make  no  answer. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  this  new  method  of  eating 
bread  and  cheese  ?" 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  I  saw  the  little  boy  in  the 
cottage  eating  his  bread  and  cheese,  after  he  had  done 
weeding;  and  he  ate  it  just  in  this  way." 

"  And  why  should  you  act  in  that  way,  because  you 
saw  him  do  so  ?" 

"  Mamma,  I  thought  you  liked  that  little  boy ;  I  thought 
he  was  a  very  good  boy ;  do  not  you  remember  his 
bringing  me  back  a  bunch  of  ripe  cherries  that  I  drop- 
ped 1  You  called  him  an  honest  little  fellow ;  and  do  not 
you  remember  that  he.  has  been  very  good-natured,  in 
telling  us  all  he  knew  about  bees,  and  in  letting  me  look 
at  his  glass  beehive  ?  And  yoji  know,  mamma,  this  morn- 
ing you  said,  when  you  saw  him  at  work,  that  he  was 
Tery  industrious,  did  not  you  ■?" 

"  Yes,  I  did ;  I  think  he  is  very  industrious,  and  thai 
he  was  good-natured  in  letting  you  look  at  his  glass  bee- 
hive, and  honest  in  returning  to  you  the  bunch  of  ripe 
cherries  which  you  dropped :  but  what  has  all  this  to 
do  with  his  method  of  eating  bread  and  cheese "?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  after  thinking 
a  little  while.    "  Nothing  to  do  with  it.    But  I  thought 

Da 


76  FRANK. 

you  would  be  pleased  to  see  me  do  every  thing  like  him, 
because  you  were  pleased  this  morning  when  you  saw 
.me  weeding  like  him." 

"You  may  weed  like  him,"  said  Frank's  mother, 
**  without  eating  like  him  ;  he  weeds  well,  but  he  eats 
disagreeably — 1  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  as  honest,  and 
as  good-natured,  and  as  industrious  as  he  is ;  but  I 
should  be  sorry  to  see  you  imitate  his  manner  of  eating, 
because  that  is  disagreeable.  Sensible  people  do  not 
imitate  every  thing  which  they  See  others  do ;  they 
imitate  only  what  is  useful  or  agreeable." 

Frank  took  the  bread  and  cheese  from  between  his 
forefinger  and  his  middlefinger,  and  between  his  middle 
finger  and  his  fourth  finger ;  and  he  put  the  cheese  upon 
his  plate,  and  did  not  any  longer  imitate  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  seen  the  little  boy  in  the  cottage  cram  his 
mouth. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear,"  said  Frank's  father,  "  of  the 
manner  in  which  apes  are  sometimes  caught  V 

"  No,  papa." 

"  Apes  are  apt  to  imitate  every  thing  which  they  see 
done :  and  they  cannot,  as  you  can,  Frank,  distinguish 
what  is  useful  and  agreeable  from  what  is  useless  or 
disagreeable — they  imitate  every  thing  without  reflect- 
ing. Men,  who  want  to  catch  these  apes,  go  under  the 
trees  in  which  the  apes  live;  and  the  men  take  with 
them  basins  with  water  in  them,  in  which  they  wash 
their  own  hands.  They  rub  their  hands,  and  wash 
and  wash  for  some  time,  till  they  perceive  that  the 
apes  are  looking  at  them  :  then  the  men  go  away,  and 
carry  with  them  the  basins  of  water ;  and  they  leave 
under  the  trees  large  heavy  wooden  basins,  filled  with 
pitch — you  have  seen  pitch,  Frank :  you  know  that  it  is 
a  very  sticky  substance.  The  apes,  as  soon  as  the  men 
are  out  of  sight,  come  down  from  the  trees,  and  go  to 
the  basins  to  wash  their  ha^ids,  in  imitation  of  the  men. 
The  apes  dip  their  hands  into  the  pitch ;  and  the  pitch 
sticks  to  their  hairy  hands ;  and  the  apes  cannot  draw 
their  hands  out  of  the  pitch.  Now  these  animals  usu- 
ally run  upon  all  fours." 

"  All  fours,  papa !"  interrupted  Frank,  "  how  is  that  V* 

"  As  you  run  upon  your  hands  and  feet  upon  the  car- 
pet sometimes. — The  apes  cannot  run  well,  for  want 
of  their  hands,  and  because  the  wooden  bowls,  which 
Stick  to  their  hands,  are  so  heavy.    The  men  who  left 


FRANK.  T7 

these  bowls  come  back,  and  find  the  apes  caught  in  this 
manner." 

"  I  think  these  apes  are  very  foolish  animals,"  said 
Frank. 

*'  So  do  I,"  said  his  father :  "  no  animals  are  wise 
who  imitate  what  they  see  done,  without  considering 
the  reason  why  it  is  done." 


Frank  asked  his  mother  if  she  would  take  him  a^ain 
to  the  cottage  garden,  to  see  the  bees  at  work  in  the 
glass  beehive ;  but  his  mother  answered,  "  I  am  afraid 
to  take  you  there  again,  till  I  am  sure  that  you  will  not 
imitate  the  little  boy  in  every  thing  which  you  see  him 
do ;  for  instance — " 

"  O  mamma !"  said  Frank,  "  I  know  what  you  are 
going  to  say — but  to-day  at  dinner,  you  shall  see  that  I 
will  not  eat  in  that  disagreeable  way." 

His  mother  attended  to  him  several  days ;  and  when 
she  observed  that  he  did  not  imitate  this  boy  any  more 
in  his  manner  of  eating,  she  took  him  again  to  the  cot- 
tage. 

The  old  woman  was  spinning  ;  and  Frank  stopped  to 
look  at  her  spinning-wheel;  and  he  asked  his  mother 
what  was  the  use  of  what  the  old  woman  was  doing. 

She  told  him  that  the  woman  was  twisting  a  kind  of 
coarse  thread,  and  that  her  spinning-wheel  was  a  ma- 
chine which  helped  her  to  do  this  quickly. 

His  mother  then  asked  Frank  whether  he  knew 
where  the  thread  was  found,  or  how  it  was  made. 

"  No,  mamma,'"  said  Frank. 

"  It  is  made  of  a  plant  called  flax,  my  dear,"  said  his 
mother — "I  think  you  went  with  me,  last  summer, 
through  a  field  in  which  you  saw  flax— you  took  notice 
of  its  pretty  blue  flowers." 

Frank  said  that  he  did  remember  this ;  but  that  he 
could  not  imagine  how  thread,  which  he  saw  upon  the 
spinning-wheel,  could  be  made  from  that  green  plant 
with  the  blue  flowers. 

His  mother  told  him  that  she  would  show  him  lifhen- 
ever  she  had  an  opportunity. 

The  old  woman  who  was  spinning  told  Frank's 
mother  that  a  neighbour  of  hers  was  this  very  day 
hackling  some  flax,  and  that  if  she  liked  to  let  Frank 


78  FBANK, 

1    ■ 

see  how  it  was  done,  she  would  show  her  the  way  to 
the  house  where  her  neighbour  lived. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  what  is  meant  by  hackling  flax," 
said  Frank. 

"  Then  come  with  us,  and  you  shall  see,"  said  Ms 
mother. 

Frank  followed  his  mother  to  another  cottage,  where 
he  saw  a  woman  beating,  with  the  edge  of  a  thin  bit  of 
wood,  something  which  he  thought  looked  a  little  like 
very  yellow  dry  hay ;  but  his  mother  told  him  that  this 
was  flax. 

As  the  woman  beat  it,  a  great  deal  of  dust  and  dirt 
fell  out  of  it  upon  the  ground ;  and,  by  degrees,  the  flax 
which  she  held  in  her  hand  looked  cleaner  and  cleaner, 
and  finer  and  finer,  till  at  last  it  looked  like  yellow 
hair.. 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  the  flax  which  I  saw 
last  summer,  growing  in  a  field  near  this  house,  had 
long  green  stalks  and  blue  flowers ;  and  I  saw  no  yellow 
threads  like  these — is  this  a  diff'erent  kind  of  flax  V 

"  No,  my  dear ;  this  is  the  same  flax.  The  blue  flow- 
ers have  \vithered  and  died.  When  the  blue  flowers 
began  to  wither,  the  woman  pulled  up  all  the  green 
stalks,  and  bound  them  together  in  bundles,  and  put 
these  bundles  under  water,  where  she  left  them  for 
about  a  fortnight ;  during  this  time,  the  green  outside 
of  the  stalk  decayed,  and  the  stringy  part  remained ; 
she  then  untied  the  bundles,  and  spread  them  out  near 
a  fire  to  dry ;  in  a  few  days  they  were  dried,  and  then 
she  brought  the  flax  home — and  this,"  said  she,  showing 
Frank  a  bit  of  the  flax  which  the  woman  had  not  yet 
beaten  and  cleaned,  "  this  is  the  flax  as  it  looks  after  it 
has  been  soaked  in  water  and  dried." 

"  And  what  is  going  to  be  done  to  it  now,  mamma  1" 
said  Frank,  who  observed  that  the  woman  was  now 
placing  two  small  boards  before  her,  on  which  were 
stuck,  with  their  points  upright,  several  rows  of  steel 
pins ;  their  points  were  as  sharp  as  needles. 

"  I  am  going  to  hackle  the  flax,  master,"  said  the 
woman:  and  she  began  to  comb  the  flax  with  these 
steel  combs.  She  drew  the  flax  through  the  steel  pins 
several  times.  The  board  into  which  the  pins  were 
stuck  was  fastened  upon  the  table ;  and,  as  the  woman 
drew  the  flax  through  the  pins,  it  was  disentangled,  and 
combed  smooth. 


FRANK.  ^ 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  it  is  just  like  combing  hair 
out,  only  the  woman  does  not  move  the  comb,  but  she 
draws  the  hair — the  flax,  I  mean,  through  it." 

The  pins  in  one  of  the  boards  were  much  smaller, 
and  placed  closer  together,  than  those  in  the  other 
board. 

"  This  is  the  large  comb,  and  this  is  the  small-toothed 
comb,  mamma,"  said  Frank. 

And  when  the  flax  had  been  drawn  through  these  fine 
pins,  there  was  not  a  tangle  left  in  it:  and  it  looked 
smooth,  bright,  and  shining,  and  of  a  light  yellow  colour. 

Frank's  mother  showed  him  that  this  looked  the  same 
as  what  he  had  seen  on  the  old  woman's  spinning-wheel. 

They  went  back  to  the  spinning-wheel ;  and  the  old 
woman  sat  down,  and  spun  a  little ;  and  Frank  saw 
that  the  threads  of  the  flax  were  twisted  together — he 
did  not  exactly  know  how ;  and  his  mother  told  him 
that  he  must  not  expect  to  find  out  how  it  was  done  by. 
looking  at  it  for  a  few  minutes. 

Frank  said,  "  Mamma,  I  feel  tired,  my  eyes  are  tired 
of  looking,  and  I  am  tired  with  thinking  about  this 
spinning-wheel." 

"  Then  do  not  think  any  more  about  it  now  :  go  and 
run  into  the  garden ;"  and  Frank  ran  into  the  garden ; 
and  he  jumped  and  sang  ;  then  he  listened  to  the  birds 
who  were  singing ;  and  he  smelt  the  flowers,  partic- 
ularly rosemary  and  balm,  which  he  had  never  smelt 
before  ;  and  he  heard  the  humming  of  bees  near  him,  as 
he  was  smelling  to  the  rosemary ;  and  he  recollected 
that  he  had  not  looked  at  the  bees  this  day ;  so  he  ran 
to  the  glass  beehive,  and  watched  them  working. 

And  afterward  he  ran  back  to  his  mother,  and  said,  "  I 
am  quite  rested  now,  mamma — I  mean,  I  do  not  feel 
tired  of  thinking  about  the  spinning-wheel.    May  I  look 
at  the  woman  spinning  again  ?" 
.  "  Yes,  my  dear." 

Frank  went  into  the  cottage,  and  looked  at  the  old 
woman  who  was  spinning. 

"  Would  you  like  to  try  to  ^in  a  bit,  dear  1"  said  the 
old  woman. 

"  Yes,  I  should,"  said  Frank ;  "  it  looks  as  if  it  was 
very  easy  to  do  it,  but  perhaps  it  is  not ;  for  I  remem- 
ber I  could  not  plane  M'ith  the  carpenter's  plane,  though 
it  seemed  very  easy  when  he  was  doing  it." 

Frank  tried  to  spin,  but  he  broke  the  thread  almost  at 


80  FRANK. 

the  first  trial;  however,  the  old  woman  clapped  her 
hands,  and  said,  "  That's  a  pretty  dear  !  He  spins  as 
well  as  I  do,  I  declare !" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  said  Frank  ;  "  I  know  I  cannot  spin 
at  all ;"  and  he  looked  ashamed,  and  left  the  spinning- 
wheel,  and  turned  away  from  the  old  woman,  and  went 
back  to  his  mother. 

She  walked  home  with  him ;  and  as  they  were  walk- 
ing home,  his  mother  said  to  him,  "  Do  you  know  why 
you  came  back  just  now,  Frank !" 

"  Yes,  mamma,  because  the  woman  called  me  a  pretty 
dear,  and  told  me  that  I  could  spin  as  well  as  she  could; 
and  you  know  I  could  not ;  so  that  was  flattering  me  ; 
and  I  do  not  like  people  that  flatter  me.  I  remember 
the  lady  in  the  shop  who  flattered  me,  and  afterward 
called  me  a  mischievous  brat.  But  I  do  not  much  like 
to  think  of  that.  Mamma,  of  what  use  is  that  brown 
thread  which  the  old  woman  made  of  the  flax?" 

"  Of  that  brown  thread  linen  is  made,  my  dear." 

"  But  linen  is  white,  mamma :  how  is  the  brown  thread 
made  white  1" 

"  it  is  left  in  a  place  where  the  sun  shines  upon  it ; 
and  there  are  other  ways  of  making  linen  white,  which 
I  cannot  now  explain  to  you.  Making  linen  white  is 
called  bleaching  it." 

"  Can  you  explain  to  me,  mamma,  how  thread  is  made' 
into  linen  1"  ' 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  cannot ;  but  perhaps  your  father, 
when  you  are  able  to  understand  it,  may  show  you  how 
people  weave  linen  in  a  loom." 


One  night,  when  Frank's  brother  Henry  was  with 
him,  they  were  talking  of  Henry's  garden. 

Henry  said,  "  Next  spring  I  intend  to  sow  some  scar- 
let runners,  or  French  beans,  in  my  garden."  ' 

"  Whereabouts  in  your  garden  1"  said  Frank.  '     ' 

Henry  tried  to  describe  to  him  whereabouts :  but 
Frank  could  not  understand  him ;  so  Henry  took  his 
pencil  out  of  his  pocket,  and  said,  "  Now,  Frank,  I  will 
draw  for  you  a  map  of  my  garden;  and  then  you  will 
imderstand  it." 

He  drew  the  shape  of  his  garden  upon  paper ;  and  he 
marked  where  all  the  little  walks  went,  and  where  the 


FRANK.  <S^ 

rosebud  stood,  and  where  the  sally-fence  was  ;  and  he 
drew  all  the  borders,  and  printed  upon  each  of  the  bor- 
ders the  name  of  what  was  planted  there  when  Frank 
last  saw  it. 

Frank,  after  he  had  looked  at  this  drawing  for  a  little 
while,  understood  it,  and  saw  the  exact  spot  in  which 
Henry  intended  to  sow  his  scarlet  runners. 

"  So  this  is  what  you  called  afnap,"  said  Frank ;  "  but 
it  is  not  like  the  maps  in  papa's  study." 

"  They  are  maps  of  counties,  not  of  little  gardens," 
said  Henry. 

"  I  suppose  they  are  of  the  same  use  to  other  people 
that  the  little  map  of  your  garden  was  to  me — to  show 
them  whereabouts  places  are.  But,  Henry,  what  are 
those  odd-shaped,  crooked  bits  of  wood,  which  hook 
into  one  another,  and  which  I  thought  you  called  a 
map  1" 

"  That  is  a  map  pasted  upon  wood :  and  the  shapes 
of  the  different  places  are  cut  out  through  the  paper, 
and  through  the  wood ;  and  then  they  can  be  joined  to- 
gether again  exactly  in  the  same  shape  that  they  were 
in  at  first." 

"  I  do  not  understand  how  you  mean,"  said  Frank. 

Henry  cut  out  the  different  beds  and  walks  in  the 
little  map  which  he  had  drawn  of  his  garden ;  and  when 
he  had  separated  the  parts,  he  threw  them  down  upon 
the  table  before  Frank,  and  asked  him  to  try  if  he  could 
put  them  together  again  as  they  were  before. 

After  some  trials,  Frank  did  join  them  all  together ; 
and  he  told  Henry  that  he  should  very  much  like  to  try 
to  put  his  wooden  map  together,  and  that  he  would  be 
very  much  obliged  to  him  if  he  would  lend  it  to  him. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Henry,  "  to  lend  you  that  map, 
lest  you  should  lose  any  of  the  parts  of  it." 

"  I  will  not  lose  them,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  tried  every  day  for  a  week,"  said  Henry,  "before 
I  was  able  to  put  it  all  together  ;  and  after  I  had  done  with 
it  every  day,  I  put  it  into  the  box  belonging  to  it ;  and  I 
regularly  counted  all  the  bits,  to  see  that  I  had  them 
right." 

"  I  will  count  them  every  day  before  I  put  them  by  if 
you  will  lend  them  to  me,"  said  Frank. 

"  If  you  will  promise  me  to  do  so,"  said  Henry,  "  I 
will  lend  you  my  map  for  a  week." 

Frank  was  eagerly  going  to  say,  "  Yes,  I  will  promise 
D3 


82  FRANK. 

you,^  when  he  felt  a  hand  before  his  lips.  It  was  his 
mother's.  "  My  dear  Frank,"  said  she,  in  a  serious 
tone  of  voice,  "  consider  before  you  ever  make  any 
promise.  No  persons  are  believed  or  trusted  who  break 
their  promise.  You  are  very  young,  Frank ;  and  you 
scarcely  know  what  a  promise  means." 

"  I  think  I  know,  mamma,  what  this  promise  means," 
said  Frank. 

"  And  do  you  think  you  shall  be  able  to  keep  yom 
promise  *" 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Frank  ;.*'  I  hope  that  I  shall." 

"  I  hope  so  too,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother ;  "  for  I 
would  rather  that  you  should  never  put  that  map  to- 
gether, than  that  you  should  make  a  promise  and 
break  it." 

Frank  promised  Henry,  that  whenever  he  took  the 
map  out  of  the  box,  he  would  count  the  pieces,  to  see 
M^hether  he  had  the  right  number,  before  he  put  them 
again  into  the  box. 

"  Remember,"  said  Frank,  "  I  do  not  promise  that  I 
will  not  lose  any  pieces  of  the  map — I  promise  only  to 
count  them  ;  but  1  hope  I  shall  not  lose  any  of  them." 

Henry  told  him  that  he  understood  very  well  what  he 
said :  and  he  put  the  box  into  his  hands. 

Frank  immediately  counted  the  pieces  of  the  map. 
It  was  a  map  of  England  and  Wales ;  and  there  were 
fifty-two  pieces  ;  one  to  represent  each  county. 

"  Fifty-two — fifty-two — fifty-two,"  repeated  Frank, 
several  times ;  "  1  am  afraid  I  shall  forget  how  many 
there  are." 

"  Then,"  said  Henry,  "  you  had  better  write  it  down. 
Here  is  a  pencil  for  you,  and  you  may  write  it  upon  the 
lid  of  the  box." 

Frank  wrote  a  two  and  a  five  after  it. 

"  That  is  not  right,"  said  Henry ;  "  that  is  twenty- 
five  ;  and  you  know  that  there  are  fifty-two." 

"  Then,"  said  Frank,  "  I  must  put  the  five  to  my  left 
hand  and  the  two  to  my  right  hand  to  make  fifty-two. 
Mamma,  I  did  not  understand  what  papa  told  me  once 
about  the  places  of  units,  and  tens,  and  hundreds." 

"  Then  you  had  better  ask  him  to  explain  it  to  you 
again  when  he  is  at  leisure  :  for  want  of  knowing  this, 
when  you  were  to  write  fifty-two,  you  wrote  twenty- 
five." 

**  That  was  a  great  mistake :  but  papa  is  busy  now, 


PRANK.  83 

aJi'd  'fcSnnot  explain  about  units  and  tens  to  me ;  there- 
fore, I  will  put  the  map  together  if  I  can." 

Frank  could  not  put  the  map  together  the  first  night 
that  he  tried,  nor  the  second  day,  nor  the  third :  but  he 
regularly  remembered  to  count  the  bits,  according  to 
his  promise,  every  day,  before  he  put  them  into  the 
box. 

One  day  he  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  go  out  to  fly  his 
kite ;  but  all  the  pieces  of  the  map  were  scattered  upon 
the  carpet ;  and  he  stayed  to  count  them  and  put  them 
into  the  box  before  he  went  out. 

It  was  not  easy  to  get  them  into  the  box,  which  was 
but  just  large  enough  to  hold  them  when  they  were 
well  packed. 

The  lid  of  the  box  would  not  slide  into  its  place 
when  the  pieces  of  the  map  were  not  put  in  so  as  to  lie 
quite  flat. 

One  day — it  was  Friday — Frank  saw  his  father  open 
a  large  book,  in  which  there  were  very  pretty  prints  of 
houses ;  and  he  was  eager  to  go  to  look  at  these  prints  ; 
but  his  map  was  upon  the  table ;  and  he  thought  he  had 
better  count  the  pieces  and  put  them  into  the  box  be- 
fore he  went  to  look  at  the  prints,  lest  he  should  forget 
to  do  it  afterward :  therefore,  he  counted  them  as  fast 
as  he  could.  They  were  not  all  right.  Fifty-two  was 
the  number  that  had  been  lent  to  him,  and  he  could  find 
but  fifty-one. 

He  searched  all  over  the  room — under  the  tables — 
under  the  chairs — upon  the  sofa — under  the  cushions  of 
the  sofa — under  the  carpet — everywhere  he  could  think 
of.  The  lost  bit  of  the  map  was  nowhere  to  be  found ; 
and,  while  he  was  searching,  his  father  turned  over  all 
the  leaves  in  the  book  of  prints,  found  the  print  that  he 
wanted,  then  shut  the  book,  and  put  it  into  its  place  in 
the  bookcase. 

Frank  wss  at  this  instant  crawling  from  beneath  the 
sofa,  where  he  had  been  feeling  for  his  lost  county. 
He  looked  up  and  sighed  when  he  saw  the  book  of 
pretty  prints  shut  and  put  up  into  the  bookcase. 

"  O  papa !  there  is  the  very  thing  I  have  been  looking 
for  all  this  time,"  cried  Frank,  who  now  espied  the  bit 
of  the  map  which  he  had  missed :  it  was  lying  upon  the 
table,  and  the  book  of  prints  had  been  put  upon  it,  so 
that  Frank  never  could  see  it  till  the  book  was  lifted  up. 
"  I  am  glad  1  have  found  you,  little  crooked  county 


64  FRANK. 

of  Middlesex,"  said  Frank.     "Now  I  have  them  all 
right — fifty-two." 

The  next  morning — Saturday — the  last  day  of  the 
week  during  which  the  map  was  lent  to  Frank,  he  spent 
an  hour  and  a  half*  in  trying  to  put  it  together :  atiast 
he  succeeded,  and  hooked  every  county,  even  crooked 
little  Middlesex,  into  its  right  place. 

He  was  much  pleased  to  see  the  whole  map  fitted  to- 
gether. "  Look  at  it,  dear  mamma,"  said  he :  "  you  can- 
not see  the  joinings,  it  fits  so  nicely." 

His  mother  was  just  come  to  look  at  his  map,  when 
they  heard  a  noise  of  several  sheep  baaing  very  loud 
near  the  windows.  Frank  ran  to  the  window,  and  he 
saw  a  large  flock  of  sheep  passing  near  the  window ;  a 
man  and  two  women  were  driving  them. 

"How  fat  they  look,  mamma!"  said  Frank;  "they 

seem  as  if  they  could  hardly  walk,  they  are  so  fat." 

"  They  have  a  great  deal  of  wool  upon  their  backs." 

"  Mamma,  what  can  be  the  use  of  those  large,  very 

large  scissors,  which  that  woman  carries  in  her  hand  T" 

"  Those   large  scissors  are  called  shears ;  and  with 

them  the  wool  will  be  cut  from  the  backs  of  these 

sheep." 

"  Will  it  hurt  the  sheep,  mamma,  to  cut  their  wool 
offr' 

"  Not  at  all,  I  believe." 

"I  should  like,  then,  to  see  it  done;  and  I  should 
like  to  touch  the  wool.  What  use  is  made  of  wool, 
mammal" 
"  Your  coat  is  made  of  wool,  my  dear." 
Frank  looked  surprised  ;  and  he  was  going  to  ask  how 
wool  could  be  made  into  a  coat ;  but  his  father  came 
into  the  room,  and  asked  him  if  he  should  like  to  go 
with  him  to  see  some  sheep  sheared. 

"Yes,  very  much,  papa;  thank  you,"  said  Frank, 
jumping  down  from  the  chair  on  which  he  stood. 

"  I  shall  be  ready  to  go  in  five  minutes,"  said  his 
father. 

"  I  am  ready  this  minute,"  said  Frank ;  "  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  get  my  hat,  and  to  put  on  my  shoes." 
But  just  as  he  got  to  the  door,  he  recollected  that  he 
had  left  Henry's  map  upon  the  floor ;  and  he  returned 

*  A  boy  of  four  years  old  sjjent,  voluntarily,  above  an  hour  and  a 
half  in  attempts  to  put  together  a  joining  map. 


FRANK.  65 

back,  and  was  going  hastily  to  put  it  into  the  box ;  but 
he  then  recollected  his  promise  to  count  the  pieces  every 
day  before  he  put  them  into  the  box.  He  was  much 
afraid  that  his  father  should  be  ready  before  he  had 
finished  counting  them,  and  that  he  should  be  left  be- 
hind, and  should  not  see  the  sheep  sheared ;  but  he  kept 
his  promise  exactly :  he  counted  the  fifty-two  pieces, 
put  them  into  the  box,  and  was  ready  the  instant  his 
father  called  him. 

He  saw  the  wool  cut  off  the  back  of  the  sheep ;  it  did 
not  entertain  him  quite  so  much  as  he  had  expected,  to 
see  this  done ;  but  when  he  returned  home,  he  was  very 
glad  to  meet  his  brother  Henry  in  the  evening  ;  and  he 
returned  the  box  of  maps  to  him. 
■  "  Thank  you,  Henry,"  said  he ;  "  here  is  your  map, 
safe.  Count  the  pieces,  and  you  will  find  that  there  are 
fifty-two.  And  I  have  kept  my  promise ;  I  have  counted 
them  every  day  before  I  put  them  into  the  box.  My 
mother  saw  me  count  them  every  day." 

*'  I  am  glad,  Frank,  that  you  have  kept  your  promise," 
said  Henry,  and  his  mother,  and  his  father,  all  at  once ; 
and  they  all  looked  pleased  with  him. 

His  father  took  down  the  book  of  pretty  prints,  and 
put  it  into  Frank's  hands. 

"  I  will  lend  you  this  book  for  a  week,"  said  his 
father ;  "  you  may  look  at  all  the  prints  in  it ;  I  can 
trust  you  with  it ;  for  I  saw  that  you  took  care  of 
Henry's  map  which  was  lent  to  you." 

Frank  opened  the  book,  and  he  saw  upon  the  first 
page  the  print  of  the  front  of  a  house. 

"  The  reason  I  wished  to  look  at  this  book  so  much," 
said  Frank,  "  was,  because  I  thought  I  saw  prints  of 
houses  in  it,  and  I  am  going  to  build  a  house  in  my 
garden." 

"  You  have  kept  your  promise  so  well,"  said  Henry, 
"  about  the  map,  that  I  will  lend  you — what  I  would  not 
lend  to  anybody  that  I  could  not  trust — I  will  lend  you 
my  box  full  of  little  bricks,  if  you  will  not  take  them 
out  of  doors,  nor  wet  them." 

Frank  said  that  he  would  not  either  take  them  out 
of  doors  or  wet  them. 

And  Henry  believed  that  Frank  would  do  what  he 
said  that  he  would  do,  because  he  had  kept  his  promise 
exactly  with  respect  to  the  map. 

t'rank  received  the  box  full  of  little  bricks  with  a  joy- 


88  '  FRANK. 

fill  countenance,  and  his  mother  gave  him  leave  to  build 
with  them  in  the  room  in  which  he  slept. 

Henry  showed  him  how  to  break  the  joints  in  building 
— ^how  to  build  walls  and  arches.  And  Frank  was  hap- 
py in  building  different  sorts  of  buildings,  and  staircases, 
and  pillars,  and  towers,  and  arches,  with  the  little  bricks 
which  were  lent  to  him.  And  he  kept  his  promise  not 
to  wet  them,  and  not  to  take  them  out  of  doors. 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  to  keep  one's  promise,"  said  his 
mother :  "  people  are  trusted  who  keep  their  promises 
— ^trusted  even  with  little  bricks."* 


It  was  autumn — the  leaves  withered  and  fell  from  the 
trees ;  and  the  paths  in  the  grove  were  strewed  with 
the  red  leaves  of  the  beech-trees. 

Little  Frank  swept  away  the  leaves  in  his  mother's 
favourite  walk  in  the  grove ;  it  was  his  morning's  work 
to  make  this  walk  quite  clean  ;  and,  as  soon  as  dinner 
was  over,  he  slid  down  from  his  chair ;  and  he  went  to 
his  mother,  and  asked  her  if  she  would  walk  out  this 
evening  in  the  grove. 

"  I  think,"  said  his  mother,  "  it  is  now  too  late  in  the 
year  to  walk  after  dinner :  the  evenings  are  cold ;  and — " 

"  O  mamma,"  interrupted  Frank,  "  pray  walk  out  this 
one  evening — look,  the  sun  has  not  set  yet ;  look  at  the 
pretty  red  sunshine  upon  the  tops  of  the  trees — several 
of  the  trees  in  the  grove  have  leaves  upon  them  still, 
mamma,  and  I  have  swept  away  all  the  withered  leaves 
that  were  strewed  upon  your  path — will  you  come  and 
look  at  it,  mamma?" 

"  Since  you  have  swept  my  path,  and  have  taken 
pains  to  oblige  me,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  will  walk  with 
you,  Frank.  People  should  not  always  do  just  what  they 
like  best  themselves :  they  should  be  sometimes  ready 


*  These  little  bricks  were  made  of  plaster  of  Paris  :  they  were  ex- 
actly twice  as  long  as  they  were  broad,  and  twice  as  broad  as  they 
were  thick.  Two  inches  and  a  quarter  long  is  a  convenient  length, 
being  one  quarter  of  the  length  of  a  common  brick.  Common  bricks 
are  not  exactly  in  the  proportion  above  mentioned,  as  there  is  gener- 
ally allowance  made  for  mortar.  A  few  lintels  of  wood,  the  depth 
and  breadth  of  a  brick,  and  twelve  inches  and  three  quarters  long, 
will  be  found  very  convenient :  these  should  be  painted  exactly  to 
match  the  colour  of  the  bricks. 


fRANK.    '_     ^  •^; 

to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  their  friends  :  so,  Frank, 
I  will  comply  with  your  wish,  and  walk  to  the  grove." 

His  mother  found  it  a  more  pleasant  evening  than  she 
had  expected ;  and  the  walk  in  the  grove  was  shelter- 
ed ;  and  she  thanked  Frank  for  having  swept  it. 

The  wind  had  blown  a  few  leaves  from  one  of  the 
heaps  which  he  had  made ;  and  he  ran  on  before  his 
mother  to  clear  them  away — but,  as  he  stooped  to  brush 
away  one  of  the  leaves,  he  saw  a  caterpillar,  which 
was  so  nearly  the  colour  of  the  faded  green  leaf  upon 
which  it  lay,  that  he  at  first  sight  mistook  it  for  a  part 
of  the  leaf — it  stuck  to  the  leaf,  and  did  not  move  in  the 
least,  even  when  Frank  touched  it.  He  carried  it  to  his 
mother,  and  asked  her  if  she  thought  that  it  was  dead, 
or  if  she  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  it. 

"  I  beheve,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  that  this 
caterpillar  will  soon  turn  into  a  chrysalis." 

"  Chry — what,  mamma  ?" 

"  Chrysalis." 

"  What  is  a  chrysalis  1" 

"I  cannot  describe  it  to  you;  but  if  you  keep  this 
caterpillar  a  few  days,  you  will  see  what  I  mean  by  a 
chrysalis  V 

"  I  will — but  how  do  you  know,  mamma,  that  a  cater- 
pillar will  turn  into  a  chrysalis !" 

"  I  have  seen  caterpillars  that  have  turned  into  chrys- 
alises; and  I  have  heard  that  they  do  so  from  many 
other  people  who  have  seen  it ;  and  I  have  read  in 
books  accounts  of  caterpillars  that  have  turned  into 
chrysalises ;  and  this  is  the  time  of  the  year  in  which, 
as  it  has  been  observed,  this  change  usually  happens." 

"  But,  my  dear  mother,"  said  P'rank,  "  may  I  keep 
this  caterpillar  in  my  red  box  ? — And  what  shall  I  give 
it  to  eat !" 

"  You  need  not  give  it  any  thing  to  eat ;  for  it  will  not 
eat  while  it  is  in  this  state :  and  you  may  keep  this 
caterpillar  in  your  box  ;  it  will  soon  become  a  chrysalis ; 
and,  in  the  spring,  a  moth  or  butterfly  will  come  out  of 
the  chrysalis." 

Frank  looked  much  surprised  at  hearing  this ;  and  he 
said  that  he  would  take  great  care  of  the  caterpillar, 
and  that  he  would  watch  it,  that  he  might  see  all  these 
curious  changes. 

"  Who  was  the  first  person,  mamma,  that  ever  ob- 


88  FRANK. 

served  that  a  caterpillar  turned  into  a  chrysalis,  and  a 
chrysalis  into  a  butterfly  ?" 

"  1  don't  know,  my  dear." 

"  Mamma,  perhaps,  if  I  observe,  I  may  find  out  things 
as  well  as  other  people." 

"  Yes,  very  hkely  you  may." 

"  Mamma,  how  did  the  person  who  wrote  about  ani- 
mals, in  my  book  that  my  father  gave  me,  find  out  all 
that  he  knew  V 

"  Partly  from  reading  other  books,  and  partly  from 
observing  animals  himself." 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  how  did  the  people 
who  wrote  the  other  books  know  all  the  things  that  are 
told  in  them  ?" 

"  By  observing,"  said  his  mother — "  different  people, 
in  different  places,  observed  different  animals,  and 
wrote  the  histories  of  those  animals." 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  they  did.  Did  they  ever  make 
mistakes,  mamma?" 

"  Yes,  I  beUeve  that  they  did  make  a  great  many 
mistakes." 

"  Then  every  thing  that  is  in  books  is  not  true,  is  it  1" 

"  No." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that — but  how  shall  I  know  what  is 
true  and  what  is  not  true  in  books,  mamma  V 

"  You  cannot  always  find  out  what  is  true  and  what 
is  not  true  in  books,  till  you  have  more  knowledge,  my 
dear." 

"  And  how  shall  I  get  more  knowledge,  mammal" 

"  By  observing  whatever  you  see,  and  hear,  and  feel ; 
by  reading  ;  and  by  trying  experiments." 

"  Experiments,  mamma ! — Papa  and  grown-up  wise 
people  try  experiments ;  but  I  did  not  know  that  such  a 
little  boy  as  1  am  could  try  experiments." 

Frank  and  his  mother  had  walked  on,  while  they 
were  talking,  till  they  came  to  a  path  which  led  to  the 
river  side. 

A  little  girl  was  by  the  river  side,  dipping  a  yellow 
earthen  jug  into  the  water. 

The  girl  did  not  perceive  Frank  and  his  mother,  who 
were  coming  behind  her,  till  she  heard  Frank's  voice, 
which  startled  her ;  and  she  let  the  pitcher  fall  from  her 
hand,  and  it  broke. 

The  gill  looked  very  sorry  that  she  had  broken  the 
jug ;  but  a  woman  who  was  standing  beside  her  said, 


PRANK.  89 

"  It  is  no  great  misfortune,  Mary ;  for  we  can  take  it 
home,  and  tie  it  together,  and  boil  it  in  milk,  and  it  will 
be  as  good  as  ever." 

"  My  dear  mother,"  cried  Frank,  "then  we  can  mend 
the  broken  flower-pot — shall  we  do  it  as  soon  as  we  get 
home  ?" 
♦*  We  can  try  to  do  it  as  soon  as  we  go  home." 
"  Try,  mamma !  but  are  you  not  sure  it  will  do  ?  The 
woman  said  the  jug  would  be  as  good  as  ever,  if  it  was 
tied  together,  and  boiled  in  milk." 

"  Yes ;  but  she  may  be  mistaken — we  had  better  try 
the  experiment  ourselves." 

"  Is  that  called  trying  an  experiment  ■?" 
"  Yes,  this  is  an  experiment  we  can  try." 
When  they  got  home,  Frank's  mother  rang  the  bell, 
and  asked  to  have  a  clean  saucepan  and  some  milk  up 
stairs  ;  and  when  the  saucepan  was  brought  to  her, 
she  tied  the  pieces  of  the  broken  flower-pot  together 
with  packthread,  in  the  same  shape  that  it  was  be- 
fore it  was  broken — she  put  the  flower-pot  into  the 
saucepan,  and  she  poured  over  it  as  much  milk  as  en- 
tirely covered  it ;  and  after  she  had  put  the  saucepan  on 
the  fire,  she  waited  till  the  milk  boiled ;  then  she  took 
the  saucepan  off"  the  fire,  and  she  waited  till  the  milk 
grew  so  cool  that  she  could  dip  her  fingers  into  it  with- 
out burning  herself;  and  she  took  out  the  flower-pot, 
and  carefully  untied  the  wet  packthread,  and  unwound 
it;  but,  when  she  had  unwound  it,  the  parts  of  the 
flower-pot  did  not  stick  together :  they  separated  ;  and 
Frank  was  disappointed. 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  you  would  be  so 
good  as  to  send  to  the  woman,  and  ask  her  how  it  was 
that  she  could  mend  broken  things  by  boiling  them  in 
milk;  perhaps  she  knows  something  about  it  that  we 
do  not  know  yet." 

"  Stay,"  said  Henry :  "  before  you  send  to  the  woman, 
try  another  experiment.  Here's  a  saucer  which  1  broke 
just  before  you  came  in  from  walking — I  was  rubbing 
some  Indian  ink  upon  it,  and  I  let  it  slip  off"  the  table — 
let  us  tie  this  together,  and  try  whether  you  can  mend 
it  by  boiling  it  in  the  milk."  -'  . 

The  saucer  was  tied  together ;  the  milk  that  was  in 
the  saucepan  was  poured  out,  and  some  cold  milk  was 
put  into  it :  into  this  milk  the  saucer  was  put,  and  the 
milk  was  then  boiled ;  and  the  moment  the  saucepan 


90  FRANK. 

was  taken  off  the  fire,  Frank  was  impatient  to  see  the 
saucer.  Before  it  was  nearly  cool,  he  untied  the  string ; 
the  parts  of  the  saucer  did  not  stick  together ;  and  Frank 
was  more  disappointed  now  than  he  had  been  before. 

His  mother  smiled,  and  said,  "  Frank,  people  who 
wish  to  try  experiments,  you  see,  must  be  patient." 

The  woman  whom  he  had  heard  speaking  to  the  little 
girl  by  the  river  side  lived  very  near  to  them;  and 
Frank's  mother  sent  to  beg  to  speak  to  her.  She  came ; 
and  when  she  was  told  what  had  been  done  about  the 
flower-pot  and  the  saucer,  she  asked  whether  it  was  a 
long  time  since  the  flower-pot  had  been  broken. 

"  Yes,  about  two  months." 

"  Then,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  that  could  not  be  mended 
this  way.  I  can  only  mend  things  this  way  that  have 
been  fresh  broken." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  how  comes  it  that  the  sau- 
cer which  Henry  did  but  just  break  before  we  came  in 
from  walking  did  not  slick  together,  after  all  we  did 
to  it?" 

"  Perhaps,  master,"  said  the  woman,  •*  you  did  not 
let  it  stand  to  cool  before  you  untied  it." 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  said  Frank. 

"  But,  master,  you  must  have  patience,  and  wait  tijl 
it  is  quite  cool,  or  it  will  never  do." 

"  I  will  be  more  patient  this  time,  mamma,  if  you  will 
let  me  try  once  more." 

His  mother  let  him  try  once  more ;  and  Frank  was 
going  to  boil  the  milk  again,  but  the  old  woman  said 
that  the  milk  which  had  been  boiled  would  not  do,  and 
that  he  must  use  new  milk. 

And  Frank  said,  "  This  vrill  waste  a  great  deal  of 
milk." 

But  the  old  woman  said,  "  I  never  waste  the  milk , 
for  I  give  it  to  the  children  afterward,  or  to  the  chdck- 
ens,  and  I  do  not  throw  it  away." 

Frank  now  began  to  tie  the  broken  saucer  together, 
and  the  old  woman  said  to  him,  "  Fit  it  very  close  and 
even,  and  tie  it  very  tight,  or  it  will  not  do." 

"  I  have  tied  it  as  tight  as  I  can,"  said  Frank. 

"  But,  master,  it  is  not  near  tight  enough,"  said  the 
woman :  "  I  will  show  you  how  to  tighten  it  better,  if 
you  will  give  me  a  small  wooden  skewer,  or  a  bit  of 
wood  that  I  can  cut  into  a  skewer,  about  the  size  of  your 
pencil." 


PRANK.  '9i 

"  Here  is  such  a  bit  of  wood  as  you  want,"  said 
Frank's  mother. 

"  Now,  master,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  take  another 
piece  of  packthread,  and  wind  it  three  times  round  the 
saucer,  and  tie  the  ends  together.  Leave  it  quite  loose, 
so  that  you  may  put  your  finger  between  the  saucer  and 
the  packthread.  Very  well.  Now,  master,  put  this 
stick  between  the  packthread  and  the  saucer,  and  twist 
the  packthread  tight  with  the  stick." 

"  The  packthread  looks  like  a  screw  as  I  twist  it," 
said  Frank. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  mother,  "  and  you  see  that  you  really 
screw  the  parts  of  the  saucer  together." 

*'  Yes,"  said  Frank,  "  and  this  is  as  tight  and  as  strong 
as  the  stick  and  string  in  my  skipjack,  and  it  is  some- 
thing like  it :  is  it  not,  mamma  1" 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

"  1  will  run  for  my  skipjack,  and  see  whether  it  is 
quite  the  same,"  said  Frank. 

"  You  had  better  finish  what  you  are  about  first,"  said 
his  mother;  "you  can  look  at  the  skipjack  afterward. 
Do  one  thing  at  a  time,  my  dear." 

Frank  boiled  the  new  milk,  and  put  the  well-tied  sau- 
cer into  it,  and  this  time  he  waited  till  the  saucer  was 
cool,  and  then  he  untied  the  string ;  and  he  found  that 
the  parts  of  the  saucer  stuck  fast  together ;  and  he  could 
scarcely  see  the  place  where  they  were  joined. 

He  was  pleased  with  his  success,  and  he  said,  "  Peo- 
ple must  be  patient  who  try  experiments ;  and  people 
must  be  patient  who  are  to  observe  things ;  so  I  will 
have  patience  till  next  spring,  and  then  I  shall  see  the 
chrysalis  change  to  a  moth  or  a  butterfly.  But,  mother, 
first  I  shall  see  the  caterpillar  change  to  a  chrysalis." 

Frank  put  his  green  caterpillar  into  his  red  box ;  and 
then  he  went  again  to  look  at  the  saucer  which  had  been 
mended,  and  at  the  flower-pot  which  the  old  woman  said 
could  not  be  mended ;  and  he  asked  his  mother  if  she 
could  tell  the  reason  why  things  which  had  been  broken 
a  long  time  before  could  not  be  mended  by  being  boiled 
in  this  manner  in  milk.  -  -» 

♦'I  think  I  can  guess  the  reason,"  said  his  mother; 
"  but  I  will  not  tell  it  to  you ;  I  would  rather  that  you 
should  think  and  find  it  out  for  yourself.  If  I  were  to 
tgll  you  the  reason  of  every  thing,  my  dear,  you  would 


8S  PRANK. 

never  take  the  trouble  of  thinking  for  yourself;  and 
you  know  I  shall  not  always  be  with  you  to  think  for 


"  Mamma,"  said  PranK,  "  there  is  a  reason  that  1 
have  thought  of;  but  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  the  right 
reason — but  it  may  be  one  of  the  reasons." 

"  Well,  let  us  hear  it,  without  any  more  reasons,''*  said 
his  mother,  laughing. 

"  I  thought,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  that  perhaps  the 
old  woman  could  never  mend  things — " 

"  Things!  what  sort  of  things;  chairs  and  tables,  or 
coats  and  waistcoats!" 
„"  0  mamma,  you  know  very  well  what  I  mean." 

"  Yes,  I  guess  what  you  mean ;  but  other  people  will 
not  be  at  the  trouble  of  guessing  at  the  meaning  of  what 
you  say :  therefore,  if  you  wish  to  be  understood,  you 
must  learn  to  explain  yourself  distinctly." 

"  I  thought,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  that  the  reason 
■why  the  old  woman  could  never  mend  cups  and  saucers, 
or  jugs,  or  plates,  that  had  been  broken  a  great  while, 
was,  because,  perhaps,-  the  edges  of  these  might  have 
been  rubbed  or  broken  off,  so  that  they  could  not  be 
fitted  close  together. again.  If  you  recollect,  the  old 
woman  was  saying  to  me  when  I  was  tying  the  broken 
saucer  together,  '  Tie  it  tight  and  fit  it  close,  or  it  will 
not  do.'  Do  you  think  that  I  have  found  out  the  right 
reason,  mamma?  Is  it  the  reason  which  you  thought 
of?" 

"  It  is  the  reason,"  answered  his  mother,  "  which  I 
thought  of:  but  my  haying  thought  of  it  is  no  proof  that 
it  is  right.  The  best  way  to  find  out  whether  this  is 
the  case  is  to  try.  Can  you  find  out  yourself,  Frank, 
how  you  may  prove  whether  this  is  the  reason  or  not  ?" 

"  I  would  rub  the  edges  of  a  plate  or  saucer  after  it  was 
broken ;  and  when  I  had  rubbed  off  httle  bits  of  the* 
edges,  I  would  tie  the  edges  together  and  boil  them  in 
milk  ;  and  I  would  at  the  same  time  break  another  bit 
off  the  same  plate  or  saucer;  and  I  would  tie  the  broken 
pieces  together  without  rubbing  oflT  any  of  the  edges, 
and  I  would  put  it  into  the  same  milk,  and  let  it  be 
upon  the  fire  as  long,  and  let  it  be  as  long  before  I  un- 
tied it  as  before  I  untied  the  other  broken  pieces ;  aad 


JTRANK.      ,.  93 

then  we  should  see  whether  the  rubbing  off  the  edges 
would  prevent  the  pieces  from  joining  or  not," 

Frank's  mother  told  him  that  he  might  try  his  experi- 
ment. He  tried  it ;  and  he  found  that  the  broken  bits 
of  the  plate,  whose  edges  he  had  broken  off,  could  not 
be  joined  by  being  boiled  in  milk ;  and  two  other  broken 
bits  of  the  same  ptate,  which  he  joined  without  rubbing 
off  their  edges,  stuck  together,  after  they  had  been  boiled 
in  milk,  very  well. 

Then  Frank  said,  "  Mamma,  there  is  another  thing 
which  I  should  like  to  try  ;  I  should  like  to  tie  the  broken 
flower-pot  very  tight  together,  and  to  fit  the  pieces 
closely ;  for  the  last  time  I  tied  it  1  did  not  tie  it  very 
tight ;  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  have  done  that,  till 
the  old  woman  told  me  that  1  should.  I  think  perhaps 
the  flower-pot  may  be  mended,  because,  though  it  has 
been  broken  a  great  while,  the  edges  of  it  have  never 
been  rubbed,  I  beUeve ;  it  has  been  lying  in  the  press  in 
your  room  ;  and  nobody  has  ever  meddled  with  it." 

"  Nobody  has  ever  meddled  with  it,  I  believe,"  said 
his  mother ;  "  for  I  lock  that  press  every  day,  and  no 
one  goes  to  it  but  myself;  and  I  have  never  rubbed  any 
thing  against  the  edges  of  the  broken  flower-pot." 

She  went  and  brought  the  pieces  of  the  broken  flow- 
er-pot :  and  Frank  tied  them  together  very  tight,  after  he 
had  fitted  their  edges  closely  and  evenly  together.  He 
boiled  this  flower-pot  again  in  milk,  waited  afterward 
till  it  became  cool,  and  then  untied  it,  and  he  found  that 
the  parts  stuck  together ;  and  he  poured  water  into  it, 
and  the  water  did  not  run  out.  Frank  was  glad  that  he 
had  mended  the  flower-pot  at  last. 

"  Do  you  think,  mother,"  said  he,  "  that  it  was  made 
to  stick  together  again  by  being  tied  so  tight,  or  by  the 
milk,  or  by  both  together  1" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  his  mother ;  "  but  you 
may  try  whether  tying  broken  pieces  of  earthenware 
together  will  fasten  them,  without  boiling  them  in  milk." 

Frank  tried  this ;  and  he  let  the  pieces  that  were  tied 
together  remain  still  as  long  as  those  which  he  had  be- 
fore boiled  in  milk ;  and  when  he  imtied  the  string,  the 
pieces  separated ;  they  did  not  stick  together  in  the 
least.  He  afterward  tied  these  pieces  together  again, 
and  boiled  them  in  water ;  and  he  found,  when  he  untied 
them,  that  they  did  not  stick  together. 


94  •:  FRANK. 


There  was  one  part  of  the  winter's  evening  which 
Frank  hked  particularly ;  it  was  the  half  hour  after  din- 
ner, when  the  window-shutters  were  shut,  and  the  cur- 
tains let  down,  and  the  fire  stirred,  so  as  to  make  a 
cheerful  blaze,  which  lighted  the  whole  room. 

His  father  and  mother  did  not  ring  the  bell  for  can- 
dles, because  they  liked  to  sit  a  little  while  after  dinner 
by  the  light  of  the  fire. 

Prank's  father  used  often,  at  this  time,  to  play  with 
him,  or  to  talk  to  him. 

One  evening,  after  his  father  had  been  playing  with 
Frank,  and  had  made  him  jump,  and  run,  and  wrestle, 
and  laugh,  till  Frank  was  quite  hot  and  out  of  breath, 
he  knelt  down  upon  the  carpet  at  his  father's  feet, 
rested  his  arms  upon  his  father's  knees,  and  looking  up 
in  his  face,  he  said,  "  Now,  papa,  while  I  am  resting 
myself  so  happily  here,  will  you  tell  me  something  en- 
tertaining?" 

But  just  as  Frank  said  the  word  entertaining,  the  door 
opened,  and  the  servant  came  into  the  room  with  lighted 
candles. 
«j"  O  candles  !  I  am  sorry  you  are  come !"  cried  Frank. 

"  O  candles !  I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  said  his 
father,  "  for  now  I  can  see  to  read  an  entertaining  book, 
which  I  want  to  finish." 

"  But,  papa,"  said  Frank,  "  cannot  you  sit  still  a  little, 
little  while  longer,  and  tell  me  some  short  thing  V 

"  Well,  what  shall  I  tell  you  •?" 

"  There  are  so  many  things  that  I  want  to  know,  papa, 
I  do  not  know  which  to  ask  for  first — I  want  to  know 
whether  you  have  ever  seen  a  camel — and  I  want  to 
know  where  silkworms  are  found,  and  how  they  make 
silk — and  1  want  to  know  how  people  weave  linen  in  a 
loom,  and  how  the  wool  of  sheep  is  made  into  such 
coats  as  we  have  on.  And,  oh,  father!  I  wish  very 
much  to  know  how  the  fat  of  animals  is  made  into  can- 
dles— you  promised  to  tell  me  or  to  show  me  how  that 
was  done.  And,  oh,  more  than  all  the  rest,  I  wish  to 
know  how  plates,  and  jugs,  and  cups  and  saucers,  and 
flower-pots,  are  made  of  clay — and  whether  they  are 
made  of  clay  such  as  I  have  in  my  garden.  And  I  want 
very  much  to  know  where  tea  comes  from — and — " 

"  Stop,  stop !  my  dear  Frank,"  said  his  father }  "  it 
would  take  up  a  great  deal  more  of  my  time  than  I  can 


FRANK.  95 

bestow  upon  you  to  answer  all  these  questions — I  can- 
not answer  any  of  them  to-night,  for  I  have  a  great 
many  other  things  to  do.  The  |irst  thing  you  asked 
me,  I  think,  was  whether  I  had  ever  seen  a  camel^I 
have ;  and  the  print  I  am  going  to  show  you  is  very  like 
the  animal  that  1  saw ;  and  you  may  read  his  history, 
and  then  you  will  know  all  that  I  know  of  camels ;  and, 
when  you  have  satisfied  your  curiosity  about  camels  I 
can  lend  you  another  book,  in  which  you  may  read  the 
history  of  silkworms." 

"  Thank  you,  papa,"  said  Frank :  "  I  shall  like  to  read 
these  things  very  much ;  only  I  cannot  read  quick  yet, 
papa;  and  there  are  words,  sometimes,  which  I  cannot 
make  out  well." 

*'  If  you  persevere,"  said  his  father,  "  you  will  soon  be 
able  to  read  without  any  difficulty — but  nothing  can  be 
done  well  without  perseverance.  You  have  shown  me 
that  you  have  a  great  deal  of  perseverance,  and — " 

"  Have  I,  papa  V  interrupted  Frank ;  "  when  did  I 
show  that  to  you  V 

"  The  morning  when  you  tried,  for  an  hour  and  a  half, 
to  put  the  joining  map  together." 

"And  at  last  I  did  put  it  together." 

"  Yes ;  you  succeeded  because  you  persevered." 

"  Then,"  said  Frank,  "  I  will  persevere,  and  learn  to 
read  easily,  that  I  may  read  all  the  entertaining  things 
that  are  in  books  ;  and  then  I  shall  be  as  glad  when  the 
candle  comes  as  you  were  just  now,  papa." 


,fro  ^-r- 


«.^ 


3^''  ••' 


*    » 


DEDICATION 

TO 

MY  LITTLE  BROTHER, 

FRANCIS  BEAUFORT  EDGEWORTH. 

Sixteen  years  ago  I  dedicated  a  volume  of  Early  Les- 
sons "To  my  little  brother  William."  He  has  grown 
up  to  be  a  man.  I  now  dedicate  this  Continuation  of 
fearly  Lessons  to  you,  my  dear  little  brother  Francis. 
You  are  now  four  years  old ;  just  the  age  your  brother 
was  when  Frank  was  written  for  him  and  read  to  him. 
He  could  not  then  read,  and  you  carmot  now  read.  But 
the  time  will  come  when  you  will  be  able  to  read ;  and 
then  I  hope  you  will  receive  pleasure  from  what  I  am 
at  this  instant  writing :  and  I  am  sure  that  you  wiU  feel 
pleasure  in  reading  Harry  and  Lucy,  because,  in  this 
book,  you  will  recollect  all  those  little  experiments 
which  your  father  tried  for  you.  and  which  you  then  un- 
derstood. And  you  will,  I  think,  be  glad  to  find  that  you 
are  able  to  comprehend  the  account  which  he  has  writ- 
ten of  them. 

I  hope,  my  dear  little  brother,  that  when  you  grow  up, 

you  will  be  such  a  man  as  your  brother  William  now 

is ;  and  then  you  will  give  your  father  and  mother  as 

much  pleasure  as  that  brother  William  now  gives  them. 

MARIA  EDGEWORTH. 

Decembet  8,  1813. 


FRAISK. 


Frank  was  very  fond  of  playing  at  battledoor  and 
shuttlecock;  but  he  could  not  always  play  when  he 
liked,  or  as  long  as  he  liked  it,  because  he  had  no  bat- 
tledoor or  shuttlecock  of  his  own.  He  determined  to 
try  to  make  a  shuttlecock  for  himself;  but  he  had  no 
cork  for  the  bottom  of  it,  and  he  had  only  five  feathers, 
which  had  once  belonged  to  an  old  worn-out  shuttle- 
cock. They  were  ruffled  and  bent.  His  mother  was 
very  busy,  so  that  he  did  not  like  to  interrupt  her  to  ask 
for  more  feathers  ;  and  his  father  was  out  riding,  so  that 
Frank  could  not  ask  him  for  a  cork.  His  brother  Ed- 
ward advised  him  to  put  off  trying  to  make  his  shuttle- 
cock till  his  mother  was  not  busy,  and  till  his  father 
should  return  from  riding ;  but  Frank  was  so  impatient 
that  he  would  not  take  this  prudent  advice.  He  set  to 
work  immediately  to  make  the  bottom  of  his  shuttle- 
cock of  one  end  of  the  handle  of  his  pricker,  which  he 
sawed  off,  because  he  thought  that  it  resembled  the  bot- 
tom of  a  shuttlecock  in  shape  more  than  any  other  bit 
of  wood  which  he  possessed.  When  he  tried  to  make 
holes  in  it  for  the  feathers,  he  found  that  the  wood  was 
extremely  hard ;  he  tried  and  tried  in  vain ;  and,  at  last, 
snap  went  the  end  of  the  pricker.  It  broke  in  two ;  and 
Frank  was  so  sorry  that  he  began  to  cry ;  but,  recol- 
lecting that  his  tears  would  not  mend  his  pricker,  he 
dried  his  eyes,  and  resolved  to  bear  the  loss  of  it  like 
a  man.  He  examined  the  stump  of  the  pricker  which  he 
held  in  his  hand,  and  he  found  that  there  was  enough  of 
the  steel  left  to  be  sharpened  again.  He  began  to  file  it 
as  well  as  he  could ;  and,  after  taking  some  pains,  he 
sharpened  it :  but  he  did  not  attempt  to  make  any  more 
holes  in  the  hard  wood,  lest  he  should  break  the  pricker 
again.  He  said  to  himself — "Edward  gave  me  good 
advice,  and  I  will  now  take  it ;  I  will  wait  till  my  father 
comes  home,  and  till  my  mother  is  not  busy ;  and  then 
I  will  ask  them  for  what  I  want." 

The  next  day  his  father  gave  him  a  cork,  and  his 
9  £ 


98  FRANK. 

mother  gave  him  some  feathers  ;  and,  after  several  tri- 
als, he  at  last  made  a  shuttlecock  w^hich  flew  tolerably 
well.  He  was  eager  to  try  it,  and  he  ran  to  his  brother 
Edward  and  showed  it  to  him ;  and  Edward  liked  the 
shuttlecock,  but  could  not  then  play,  because  he  was 
learning  his  Latin  lesson. 

"  Well !  I  will  have  patience  till  to-morrow,  if  I  can," 
said  Frank. 

It  happened  this  same  evening  that  Frank  was  pres- 
ent when  his  brother  Edward  and  three  of  his  cousins 
were  dressing  to  act  a  pantomime.  They  were  in  a 
great  hurry.  They  had  lost  the  burnt  cork  with  which 
they  were  to  blacken  their  eyebrows.  They  looked 
everywhere  that  they  could  think  of  for  it,  but  all  in  vain ; 
and  a  messenger  came  to  tell  them  that  everybody  was 
seated,  and  that  they  must  begin  to  act  the  pantomime 
directly.  They  looked  with  still  more  eagerness  for 
this  cork,  but  it  could  not  be  found ;  and  they  did  not 
know  where  to  get  another. 

"  J  have  one !  I  have  one !  I  have  a  cork !  you  shall 
have  it  in  a  minute !"  cried  the  good-natured  little  Frank.  . 
He  ran  up  stairs  directly,  pulled  all  the  feathers  out  of 
his  dear  shuttlecock,  burnt  the  end  of  the  cork  in  the 
candle,  and  gave  it  to  his  friends.  They  did  not  know, 
at  this  moment,  that  it  was  the  cork  of  Frank's  shuttle- 
cock ;  but,  when  they  afterward  found  it  out,  they  were 
very  much  obliged  to  him ;  and  when  his  father  heard 
this  instance  of  his  good-nature,  he  was  much  pleased. 
He  set  Frank  upon  the  table  before  him  after  dinner, 
when  all  his  friends  were  present,  and  said  to  him — 

"  My  dear  little  son,  I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  are 
of  such  a  generous  disposition.  Believe  me,  such  a  dis- 
position is  of  more  value  than  all  the  battledoors  and 
shuttlecocks  in  the  world ;  you  are  welcome  to  as  many 
corks  and  feathers  as  you  please  !  you,  who  are  so  wil- 
ling to  help  your  friends  in  their  amusements,  shall  find 
that  we  are  all  ready  and  eager  to  assist  you  in  yours." 

Close  to  the  garden  which  Frank's  mother  had  given 
to  him  there  was  a  hut  in  which  garden-tools  and  water 
ing-pots  used  formerly  to  be  kept ;  but  it  had  been  found 
to  be  too  small  for  this  purpose,  and  a  larger  had  been 
built  in  another  part  of  the  kitchen-garden:  nothing 
was  now  kept  in  that  which  was  near  Frank's  garden 
but  some  old  flower-pots  and  pans.  Frank  used  to  like 
to  go  into  this  hut  to  play  with  the  flower-pots ;  they 


FRANK. 


99 


were  piled  up  higher  than  his  head ;  and  one  day,  when 
he  was  pulUng  out.  from  the  undermost  part  of  the  pile 
a  large  pan,  the  whole  pile  of  flower-pots  shook  from 
bottom  to  top,  and  one  of  the  uppermost  flower-pots  fell 
down.  If  Frank  had  not  run  away  in  an  instant,  it 
would  have  fallen  on  his  head.  As  soon  as  he  had  a  little 
recovered  from  his  fright,  he  saw  that  the  flower-pot 
had  been  broken  by  the  fall,  and  he  took  up  the  broken 
pieces,  and  went  into  the  house  to  his  mother  to  tell  her 
what  had  happened.  He  found  his  father  and  mother 
sitting  at  the  table  writing  letters  :  they  both  looked  up 
when  he  came  in,  and  said — 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Frank  ? — you  look  very  pale." 

"  Because,  mamma,  I  have  broken  this  flower-pot." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  do  rightly  to  come  and  tell  us 
that  you  broke  it.  It  is  an  accident.  There  is  no  oc- 
casion to  be  frightened  about  it." 

"  No,  mamma  :  it  was  not  that  which  frightened  me 
so  much.  But  it  is  well  that  I  did  not  break  my  own 
head,  and  all  the  flower-pots  in  the  garden-house." 

Then  he  told  his  mother  how  he  had  attempted  to  pull 
out  the  undermost  pan,  and  how  "  the  great  pile  shook 
from  top  to  bottom." 

"  It  is  well  you  did  not  hurt  yourself,  indeed,  Frank  I" 
said  his  mother. 

His  father  asked  if  there  was  a  key  to  the  door  of  the 
hut. 

"  Papa,  there  is  an  old  rusty  lock,  but  no  key." 

"  The  gardener  has  the  key — I  will  go  for  it  directly," 
said  his  father,  rising  from  his  seat ;  "  and  I  will  lock 
that  door,  lest  the  boy  should  do  the  same  thing  again." 

"  No,  papa,"  said  Frank ;  "  I  am  not  so  silly  as  to  do 
again  what  I  know  might  hurt  me." 

"  But,  my  dear,  without  doing  it  on  purpose,  you  might 
by  accident,  when  you  are  playing  in  that  house,  shake 
those  pots,  and  pull  them  down  upon  yourself.  When- 
ever there  is  any  real  danger,  you  know  I  always  tell 
you  of  it.  And  it  is  much  better  to  prevent  any  evil 
than  to  be  sorry  for  it  afterward.  I  will  go  this  minute 
and  look  for  the  key,  and  lock  the  door,"  continued  his 
father. 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  stopping  him,  "  you  need  not  go 
for  the  key,  n'br  lock  the  door ;  for,  if  you  desire  me  not 
to  play  in  the  old  garden-house,  I  will  not  play  there ; 
E2 


100  PRANK.  ' 

I  will  not  go  in,  I  promise  you ;  I  avIU  never  even  open 
the  door." 

"  Very  well,  Frank :  I  can  trust  to  your  promise ; 
therefore  I  want  no  lock  and  key.  Your  word  is 
enough." 

"  But  only  take  care  you  do  not  forget,  and  run  in  by 
accident,  Frank,"  said  his  mother ;  "  as  you  have  such 
a  habit  of  going  there,  you  might  forget." 

"  Mamma,  1  will  not  forget  my  promise,"  said  Frank. 


A  PBW  days  after  this  time,  Frank's  father  and  mother 
were  walking  in  the  garden,  and  they  came  to  the  old 
garden-house,  and  they  stopped  and  looked  at  the  door, 
which  was  a  little  open.  This  door  could  not  be  blown 
open  by  the  wind,  because  it  stuck  against  the  ground 
at  one  corner,  and  could  not  be  easily  moved. 

*'  I  assure  you,  mamma,  I  did  not  forget — I  did  not 
open  it— 1  did  not  go  in,  indeed,  papa,"  said  Frank. 

His  father  answered — "  We  did  not  suspect  you  of 
having  opened  the  door,  Frank." 

And  his  father  and  mother  looked  at  one  another  and 
smiled. 

His  father  called  the  gardener,  and  desired  that  he 
would  not  open  the  door  of  the  old  garden-house ;  and 
he  ordered  that  none  of  the  servants  should  go  in  there. 

A  week  passed,  and  another  week  passed,  and  a  third 
week  passed,  and  again  Frank's  father  and  mother  were 
walking  in  the  garden ;  and  his  mother  said — 

"  Let  us  go  and  look  at  the  old  garden-house." 

His  father  and  mother  went  together,  and  Frank  ran 
after  them,  rejoicing  that  he  had  kept  his  promise — he 
never  had  gone  into  that  house,  though  he  had  been 
often  tempted  to  do  so,  because  he  had  left  there  a  little 
boat  of  which  he  was  veiy  fond.  When  his  father  and 
mother  had  looked  at  the  door  of  the  garden-house,  they 
again  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled,  and  said — 

"  We  are  glad  to  see,  Frank,  that  you  have  kept  your 
word,  and  that  you  have  not  opened  this  door." 

"  I  have  not  opened  the  door,  papa,"  answered  Frank ; 
*'  but  how  do  you  know  that  by  only  looking  at  it  ?" 

"  You  may  find  out  how  we  know  it ;'  and  we  had 
rather  that  you  should  find  it  out  than  that  we  should 
tell  it  to  you,"  said  his  father. 


FRANK.  101 

Frank  guessed,  first,  that  they  recollected  exactly  how 
far  open  the  door  had  been  left,  and  that  they  saw  it 
was  now  open  exactly  to  the  same  place.  But  his  father 
answered  that  this  was  not  the  way ;  for  that  they 
could  not  be  certain,  by  this  means,  that  the  door  had 
not  been  opened  wider,  and  then  shut  again  to  the  same 
place. 

"  Papa,  you  might  have  seen  the  mark  in  the  dust 
which  the  door  would  have  made  in  opening.  Was  that 
the  way,  papa  V 

"  No ;  that  is  a  tolerably  good  way ;  but  the  trace  of 
the  opening  of  the  door  might  have  been  effaced,  that  is, 
rubbed  out,  and  the  ground  might  have  been  smoothed 
again.  There  is  another  circumstance,  Frank,  which, 
if  you  observe  carefully,  you  may  discover." 

Frank  took  hold  of  the  door,  and  was  going  to  move 
it,  but  his  father  stopped  his  hand. 

"  You  must  not  move  the  door — look  at  it  without 
stirring  it." 

Frank  looked  carefully,  and  then  exclaimed — 

"  I've  found  it  out,  papa !  I've  found  it  out ! — I  see  a 
spider's  web,  with  all  its  fine  thin  rings  and  spokes,  like 
a  wheel,  just  at  the  top  of  the  door,  and  it  stretches 
from  the  top  of  the  door  to  this  post,  against  which  the 
door  shuts.  Now,  if  the  door  had  been  shut  or  opened 
wider,  this  spider's  web  would  have  been  crushed  or 
broken — the  door  could  not  have  been  shut  or  opened 
without  breaking  it.     May  I  try,  papal" 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

He  tried  to  open  the  door,  and  the  spider's  web  broke, 
and  that  part  of  it  which  had  been  fastened  to  the  door 
fell  down,  and  hung  against  the  post. 

"  You  have  found  it  out  now,  Frank,  you  see,"  said 
his  father. 

His  mother  was  going  to  ask  him  if  he  knew  how  a 
spider  makes  his  web ;  but  she  stopped,  and  did  not  then 
ask  him  this  question,  because  she  saw  that  he  was 
thinking  of  his  little  boat. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Frank !  you  may  go  into  the  house 
now,"  said  his  mother,  "  and  take  your  little  boat." 

Frank  ran  in,  and,  seizing  it,  hugged  it  in  his  arms. 

"  My  dear  little  boat,  how  glad  I  am  to  have  you 
again !"  cried  he :  "I  wish  I  might  go  to  the  river  side 
this  evening,  and  swim  it ;  there  is  a  fine  wind,  and  it 
would  sail  fast." 


102  PRANK. 

Frank  was  never  allowed  to  go  to  the  river  side  to 
swim  his  boat,  without  his  father,  or  mother,  or  eldest 
brother  could  go  with  him. 

"  Mamma,  will  you  V  said  he—"  can  you  be  so  good 
as  to  go  with  me  this  evening  to  the  river  side,  that  I 
may  swim  my  boat  V 

His  mother  told  him  that  she  had  intended  to  walk 
another  way ;  but  that  she  would  willingly  do  what  he 
asked  her,  as  he  had  done  what  she  desired.  His  father 
said  the  same,  and  they  went  to  the  river  side.  His 
father  walked  on  the  banks,  looking  till  he  saw  a  place 
where  he  thought  it  would  be  safe  for  Frank  to  swim  his 
boat.  He  found  a  place  where  the  river  ran  in  between 
two  narrow  banks  of  land :  such  a  place,  Frank's  father 
told  him,  in  large  rivers,  is  called  a  creek. 

The  water  in  this  creek  was  very  shallow ;  so  shal- 
low, that  you  could  see  the  sand  and  many  coloured 
pebbles  at  the  bottom:  yet  it  was  deep  enough  for 
Frank's  little  boat  to  float  upon  it.  Frank  put  his  boat 
into  the  water — he  launched  it — and  set  the  sail  to  the 
wind ;  that  is,  turned  it  so  that  the  wind  blew  against 
it,  and  drove  the  boat  on. 

It  sailed  swiftly  over  the  smooth  water,  and  Frank 
was  happy  looking  at  it  and  directing  it  various  ways, 
by  setting  or  turning  the  sail  in  different  directions,  and 
then  watching  which  way  it  would  go. 

"  Mamma,"  said  he,  after  his  mother  had  remained  a 
good  while,  "  you  are  very  good-natured  to  stop  with  me 
so  long  ;  but  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  have  time  to  come 
again  to-morrow ;  and,  if  you  cannot,  I  shall  not  have 
the  pleasure  of  swimming  my  boat.  Papa,  the  water  is 
so  very  shallow  here,  and  all  the  way  along  this  creek, 
that  if  I  was  to  fall  in,  I  could  not  drown  myself;  and 
the  banks  are  so  close  that  I  could  walk  to  them,  and 
get  on  dry  land  directly.  I  wish,  papa,  you  would  let 
me  come  here  whenever  I  please,  without  anybody  with 
me  ;  then  I  should  not  be  obliged  to  wait  till  mamma 
had  time,  or  till  my  brother  Edward  had  done  his  lesson ; 
then  I  could  swim  my  boat  so  happily,  papa,  whenever 
I  pleased." 

"  But  how  can  I  be  sure  that  you  will  never  go  to  any 
other  part  of  the  river,  Frank  V 

"  You  know,  papa,  I  did  not  open  the  door,  or  go  into 
that  garden-house,  after  you  had  desired  me  not,  and 
after  I  had  promised  that  I  would  not ;  and,  if  I  promise 


FRANK.  i03 

that  I  will  not  f  o  to  any  other  part  of  the  river,  you 
know  you  can  believe  me." 

"  Very  true,  Frank ;  and  therefore  I  grant  your  re- 
quest. I  can  trust  to  your  doing  what  I  desire  you  to 
do ;  and  I  can  trust  to  your  promise.  You  may  come 
here  whenever  you  please,  and  sail  your  boat  in  this 
creek,  from  the  stamp  of  this  willow  tree,  as  far  in  this 
way  towards  the  land  as  you  please," 

Frank  clapped  his  hands  joyfully,  and  cried,  **  Thank 
you,  papa^ — thank  you!  Mamma,  do  you  hear  that? 
Papa  has  given  me  leave  to  come  to  this  place  when- 
ever I  please  to  swim  my  boat ;  for  he  trusts  to  my 
promise,  mamma." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  just  reward  for  you,  Frank,"  said  his 
mother.  "  The  being  believed  another  time,  and  the 
being  more  and  more  tj«sted,  is  the  just  reward  foe 
having  done  as  you  said  that  you  would  do,  and  for 
having  kept  your  promise." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  mamma — thank  you,  papa,  for  trust- 
ing to  my  promise  !"  said  Frank, 

"  You  need  not  thank  me,  my  dear,  for  believing  you," 
said  his  father ;  "  for  I  cannot  help  believing  you,  be- 
cause you  speak  truth.  Being  believed  is  not  only  the 
reward,  but  the  necessary  consequence  of  speaking 
truth," 


Next  morning  at  breakfast  Frank's  father  told  him, 
that  if  all  the  flower-pots  were  carried  out  of  the  old 
garden-house,  and  if  they  were  removed  without  being 
broken,  he  would  give  the  empty  hut  to  Frank  for  his 
own. 

"  For  my  own !"  cried  Frank,  leaping  from  his  chair 
with  delight — "  For  my  own,  papa ! — And  do  you  mean 
that  I  may  new  roof  it  and  thatch  it  ?" 

"  If  you  can,"  said  his  father,  smiling.  "  You  may 
do  what  you  please  with  it  as  soon  as  the  flower-pots 
are  removed,  but  not  till  then :  they  must  all  be  carried 
to  the  house  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden  before  I 
give  you  the  hut.  How  will  you  get  this  done,  Frank  I 
for  you  are  not  tall  enough  to  reach  to  the  uppermost 
part  of  the  pile  yourself ;  if  you  begin  at  the  bottom, 
you  will  pull  them  all  down,  and  hurt  yourself,  and  you 
would  break  them,  and  I  should  not  give  you  the  house.** 


104  FRANK. 

*'  Papa,  perhaps  the  gardener — " 

"  No,  the  gardener  is  busy." 

Frank  looked  round  the  breakfast-table  at  his  brother 
Edward,  and  at  his  three  cousins,  William,  Charles,  and 
Frederick — they  all  smiled,  and  immediately  said  that 
they  would  undertake  to  carry  the  flower-pots  for  him. 

The  moment  they  had  eaten  their  breakfast,  which 
they  made  haste  to  finish,  they  all  ran  out  to  the  old 
garden-house.  Edward  took  a  wooden  stool,  mounted 
upon  it,  and  handed  down  carefully  the  uppermost  of  the 
garden-pots  to  his  cousins,  who  stood  below,  and  they 
carried  them  to  the  new  garden-house. 

As  all  these  boys  helped  one  another,  and  worked 
with  good-will,  and  in  good  order,  the  great  pile  was 
soon  carried  away — so  soon  that  Frank  was  quite  sur- 
prised to  see  it  was  gone.  Not  one  flower-pot  was 
broken.  Frank  ran  to  tell  his  father  this ;  and  his  father 
went  out  and  saw  that  the  garden-pots  had  been  safely 
removed;  and  then  he  gave  the  house  to  Frank,  and 
put  the  key  of  it  into  his  hand- 
Frank  turned  to  his  brother  Edward  and  his  cousins, 
and  said,  "  Edward,  how  good  you  and  ray  cousins 
were  to  help  me  !" 

"  You  deserved  that  we  should  do  this  for  you,"  said 
Edward.  "  We  do  not  forget  how  good-natured  you 
were  to  us  about  the  cork  of  your  shuttlecock.  When 
we  were  in  distress,  you  helped  us ;  so  it  was  fair  that 
we  should  help  you  when  you  wanted  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  his  father,  "  those  who  are  ready  to  help 
others  generally  find  others  ready  to  help  them.  This 
is  the  natural  and  just  reward  of  good-neiture." 

"  Rewaid !  papa,"  said  Frank :  "  that  word  you  used 
several  times  yesterday,  and  again  to-day ;  and  it  al- 
ways puts  me  in  mind  of  the  time  when  you  gave  me 
my  Bewick  on  Quadrupeds.  You  gave  it  to  me — do 
you  remember^ — as  a  reward  for  having,  as  you  wrote 
in  the  book,  cured  myself  of  a  foolish  habit.  I  recol- 
lect that  was  the  first  time  I  ever  exactly  understood 
the  meaning  of  the  word  reward." 

"  And  what  do  you  understand,  Frank,  by  the  word 
reward  V  said  his  father. 

"  O  papa !  1  know  very  well ;  for  mamma  then  told 
me,  '  a  reward  is  something  we  like,  something  we  wish 
to  have,  something — '  papa,  I  thought  I  could  explain  it 
better ;  I  cannot  explain  it  in  words ;  but  I  know  what 
it  is.    Will  you  explain  it  to  me  again,  papa  1" 


FRANK.  105 

**  Do  you  try  first  if  you  understand  what  it  means ; 
and  if  you  will  stand  still,  and  have  a  little  patience, 
you  will  perhaps  be  able  to  find  words  to  express  your 
thoughts,  Tiry,  and  do  not  look  back  at  the  dear  hut; 
the  hut  is  there,  and  will  not  run  away;  you  will  have 
time  enough,  all  the  morning  and  all  the  evening,  to  play 
in  it,,  and  to  do  what  you  please  with  the  roof  of  it.  So, 
now  stand  still,  and  show  me  that  you  can  command 
your  attention  for  a  few  minutes — What  is  a  reward?" 
Frank,  after  he  had  considered  for  a  few  moments, 
answered : — 

"  A  reward  is  something  that  is  given  to  us  for  having 
done  right ;  no,  it  is  not  always  a  thing,  for  though  the 
first  reward  that  was  given  to  me  was  a  thing — a  book — 
yet  I  have  had  rewards  that  were  of  a  different  sort. 
That  was  a  reward  to  me  yesterday  about  the  boat ; 
and  when  you,  papa,  or  when  mamma  praises  me,  that 
is  a  sort  of  reward." 
"  It  is,"  said  his  father, 

"  Papa,  1  believe,"  continued  Frank,  "  that  a  reward 
is  any  sort  of  pleasure  which  is  given  to  us  for  doing 
right.     Is  it,  papa  V 

"  It  is,  my  dear.  Now  answer  me  one  jgr  two  more 
questions,  and  then  I  will  reward  your  patience  by  let- 
ting you  go  to  your  hut." 

"  I  am  not  thinkinf  of  that  now,  papa ;  I  will  stay  and 
answer  as  many  questions  as  you  please." 

"  Then  what  do  you  think,"  said  his  father,  "  is  the 
use  of  rewards  V 

"  To  make  me — to  make  all  people  do  right,  I  believe." 

"  True ;  and  how  do  rewards  make  you  or  maiie  other 

people  do  right  1" 

*'  Why — "  Frank  paused,  andconsidered  a  little  while. 

"  Papa,  you  know  I  like,  and  all  other  people  like,  to 

have  rewards,  because  they  are  always  pleasures  ;  and 

when  I  know  I  am  to  have  a  reward,  or  when  I  hope 

even  that  I  shall  be  rewarded  for  doing  any  right  thing, 

I  wish  and  try  to  do  it ;  and  il  I  have  been  rewarded 

once,  I  think  I  shall  be  rewarded  again  for  doing  the 

same  sort  of  thing;    and  therefore  I   wish  to  do  it. 

And,  even  if  I  have  not  had  the  reward  myself,  if  I  have 

seen  another  person  rewarded  for  doing  something  well^ 

I  think  and  hope  that  perhaps  I  may  have  the  same  if 

I  do  the  same,  and  that  makes  me  wish  to  do  it.     When 

you  gave  John,  the  gardener's  boy,  a  little  watering-pot, 

E  3 


106  FRANK. 

because  he  had  made  a  net  for  the  cherry-trees,  I  re- 
member I  wished  to  make  a  net  too,  because  I  hoped 
that  you  would  give  me  a  watering-pot;  and  when 
mamma  praised  my  brother  Edward,  and  gave  him  a 
table,  with  a  drawer  in  it,  9s  a  reward  for  keeping  his 
room  in  order,  I  began  to  try  to  keep  my  room  in  better 
order — and  you  know,  Edward,  I  have  kept  it  in  order, 
in  better  order,  ever  since.  Papa,  that  is  all  I  can  think 
of  about  the  use  of  rewards — I  cannot  explain  it  bet- 
ter." 

"  You  have  explained  it  as  well  as  I  expected  that 
you  could,  Frank.  Now  run  off  to  your  hut,  or  your 
house,  whichever  you  please  to  call  it." 


Frank  found  that  theris  were  holes  in  the  thatch  of 
his  house,  and  that,  when  it  rained,  the  rain  came  through 
these  holes  and  wetted  him,  and  spoiled  the  things  which 
he  kept  in  his  house — therefore,  he  wished  to  mend  the 
thatch.  He  went  to  his  father,  and  asked  him  if  be 
would  be  so  good  as  to  give  him  some  straw. 

His  father  said  that  he  would,  if  Frank  would  do 
something  lor  him  which  he  wanted  to  have  done. 

"  1  will  do  any  thing  I  can  for  you,  papa,"  said  Frank. 
"  What  is  it  V  ^ 

"  Look  at  these  laburnums,  Frank,"  said  his  father. 
"  Do  you  see  a  number  of  blackish  dry  pods  hanging 
from  the  branches  1" 

"  Yes,  papa,  a  great  number." 

"  Do  you  know  what  those  pods  contain  ?" 

"  Yes ;  little  black  shining  seeds — the  seeds  of  the 
laburnum-tree." 

"  I  want  to  have  all  those  seeds,  that  I  may  sow  them 
in  the  ground,  and  that  I  may  have  more  laburnum-trees. 
Now,  Frank,  if,  before  the  sun  sets  this  evening,  you  bring 
nie  all  those  seeds,  I  will  give  you  straw  enough  to  mend 
the  thatch  of  your  house." 

"  Thank  you,  papa.  I  will  work  very  hard,  and  gather 
them  as  fast  as  I  can." 

Frank  ran  for  his  basket,  and  began  to  pluck  the  pods 
from  the  lower  branches  of  one  of  the  laburnums.  Soon 
he  had  filled  his  basket  with  the  pods,  and  then  those 
which  he  tried  to  cram  in  at  the  top  of  the  basket  sprang 
wp  again  and  feU  over  the  sides ;  so  he  began  to  make 


FRANK*  10^ 

a  heap  on  the  ground  of  the  pods  which  he  afterward 
pulled  from  the  tree.  When  he  had  finished  gathering 
all  that  he  could  reach  from  the  lower  branches  of  one 
tree,  he  went  to  the  lower  branches  of  the  next,  and 
made  a  heap  under  that  tree,  and  so  on.  There  were 
nine  laburnum-trees  ;  and  when  he  had  got  to  the  ninth 
tree,  and  was  pulling  the  seeds  from  that,  he  heard  a 
rustling  noise  behind  him ;  and,  turning  round,  he  saw 
Pompey,  the  little  dog,  dragging  the  laburnum-seeds 
about  in  his  mouth. 

"  O  Pompey  !  Pompey !  let  those  alone  !"  cried  Frank. 

But  as  fast  as  he  drove  him  from  one  heap,  Pompey 
ran  to  another,  and  scratched  and  scattered  about  the 
heaps  with  his  feet,  and  snatched  up  the  pods  in  his 
mouth,  and  scampered  with  them  over  the  garden,  while 
Frank  ran  after  him  ;  till  at  last  he  caught  the  dog,  and, 
in  spite  of  Pompey's  struggling,  carried  him  out  of  the 
garden,  and  shut  the  door.  When  he  had  put  Pompey 
out,  he  collected  all  his  pods  together  again ;  and,  just 
when  he  had  done  so,  the  gardener  opened  the  garden 
door,  and  Pompey  was  squeezing  in  between  the  gar- 
dener's legs ;  but  Frank  called  loud  to  beg  that  the  gar- 
dener would  keep  him  out :  and  every  time  anybody 
opened  the  garden  door,  Frank  was  obhged'  to  watch, 
and  to  call  to  them,  making  the  same  request.  This 
was  so  troublesome,  and  interrupted  him  so  often,  that 
Frank  thought  it  would  be  better  to  carry  his  heaps  of 
pods  into  his  garden-house,  and  lock  the  door,  so  that 
Pompey  could  not  get  in  to  pull  them  about.  Frank 
carried  the  heaps,  dropping  many  pods  by  the  way,  and 
going  backwards  and  forwards  so  often,  that  this  took 
up  a  great  deal  of  time.  He  heard  the  clock  strike 
three. 

"  Three  o'clock  already !"  said  Frank  to  himself, 
looking  at  the  number  of  pods  which  hung  on  the  upper 
branches  of  the  laburnums.  "  How  much  I  have  to  do, 
and  how  little  I  have  done !  O  Pompey !  Pompey !  you 
don't  know  the  mischief  you  have  done  me,"  said  he, 
as  the  dog  squeezed  his  way  in  when  the  gardener  again 
opened  the  door. 

"Indeed,  master,"  said  the  gardener,  "I  cannot  keep 
him  out." 

"  Well,  Pompey,  come  in !  you  cannot  do  me  any 
more  harm.    Now  you  may  run  snuffing  about  the  gar- 


108  FRANK. 

den  as  much  as  you  please,  for  my  seeds  are  safe 
locked  up." 

But  though  the  pods  were  safe,  yet  it  wasted  Frank's 
time  sadly  to  lock  and  unlock  the  door  every  time  he 
had  a  fresh  basketful  to  throw  into  the  house ;  and  he 
was  obliged  to  keep  the  basket  hanging  always  upon  his 
arm,  lest  Ponipey  should  get  at  it.  Frank  lost  time  also 
in  jumping  up  and  down  every  five  minutes  from  the 
stool  on  which  he  was  obliged  to  stand  to  reach  the 
pods  from  the  higher  branches,  and  moving  this  stool 
from  place  to  place  took  up  time.  Presently  he  had 
gathered  all  that  he  could  reach  when  standing  upon 
the  stool,  even  when  he  stood  on  tiptoe,  and  stretched 
as  far  as  he  could  possibly  reach.  Then  there  was  time 
lost  in  fixing  a  step-ladder,  which  his  father  lent  to  him 
upon  condition  that  he  should  never  get  upon  it  till  he 
had  fixed  it  quite  steadily,  and  had  put  in  a  certain  prop, 
all  which  required  some  minutes  to  settle  properly.  The 
running  up  and  down  this  ladder  with  his  basket  contin- 
ually, as  it  was  filled,  tired  Frank,  and  delayed  him  so 
much  that  he  got  on  with  his  business  very  slowly, 
though  he  worked  as  hard  as  he  could. 

The  morning  passed,  and  the  evening  came ;  and  after 
dinner  Frank  jumped  from  his  chair  as  soon  as  the  table- 
cloth was  taken  away,  and  said  he  must  go  to  his  work, 
for  that  he  vras  afraid  he  should  not  be  abte  to  finish  ik 
before  sunset.  His  brother  Edward  and  his  three  cous- 
ins said  that  they  would  help'  him  if  his  father  had  no 
objection.  His  father  said  that  he  had  no  objection ; 
that  he  should  be  glad  that  they  should  help  Frank,  be- 
cause he  had  worked  so  hard,  and  had  been  so  good-hu- 
moured when  the  little  dog  had  hindered  him. 

Frank  ran  to  the  laburnum-trees,  followed  by  his 
brother  and  cousins,  rejoicing.  As  he  went,  he  said, 
"  Now  we  shall  get  on  so  quick ! — as  quickly  as  we  did 
when  you  all  helped  me  to  move  the  flower-pots." 

"Yes,"  said  Edward,  "and  for  the  same  reason." 

"  Yes ;  because  there  are  so  many  of  us,"  said  Frank. 

"  And  for  another  reason,"  said  Edward. 

"  What  other  reason  ]" 

"  Look,  and  you  will  see,"  said  his  father. 

Then  Edward  settled  that  each  person  should  do  so, 
that  they  might  each  do  what  they  could  do  best,  and  that 
they  might  help  one  another,  and  do  what  they  wanted 
as  quickly  as  they  could.     Edward  was  to  stand  upon 


the  ladder,  because  he  was  the  tallest,  and  he  could 
reach  most  easily  to  the  uppermost  branches  of  the 
tree  :  he  was  not  obliged  to  run  up  and  down  the  ladder 
to  carry  the  seeds,  because  Frank  was  appointed  to 
collect  and  carry  the  pods  off  as  fast  as  Edward  gath- 
ered and  threw  them  to  the  ground.  Frederick  and 
William  sat  on  the  grass  at  the  door  of  the  hut,  where 
the  great  heap  had  been  collected ;  and  it  was  Charles's 
business  to  supply  them  with  pods,  from  which  they 
shelled  the  seeds.  As  soon  as  Edward  had  finished 
pulling  all  the  pods  from  the  trees,  he  joined  Frederick 
and  William,  and  helped  to  shell  the  seeds,  that  is,  to  pick 
them  out  of  the  pods ;  and  as  soon  as  Frank  had  brought 
from  underneath  the  trees  all  the  pods  that  had  been 
thrown  there,  he  was  set  to  open  the  pods  ready  for  the 
pickers ;  and  Charles,  who  had  by  this  time  brought  out 
all  that  were  in  the  hut,  was  now  employed  constantly 
in  collecting  and  throwing  into  a  heap  the  empty  husks 
— because  it  was  found  that  time  had  been  lost  in  search- 
ing the  empty  husks,  which  had  been  often  mistaken, 
at  first  sight,  for  full  pods. 

"  Ay,"  said  Frank,  "  now  I  see  the  other  reason  that 
you  meant,  Edward.  1  see  why  we  go  on  so  quickly 
and  well ;  because  each  person  does  one  thing,  and  the 
thing  he  can  do  best — so  no  time  is  lost." 

No  time  was  lost.  And  they  finished  their  work,  had 
the  laburnum-seeds  shelled  and  collected  in  a  brown 
paper  bag,  and  all  the  rubbish  and  husks  cleared  away, 
just  as  the  sun  was  setting. 

_  "  Here  are  mamma  and  papa  coming  to  see  if  we  have 
done !"  cried  Frank ;  "  and  we  have  done.  Come,  papa ; 
come  as  quickly  as  you  please ;  here  are  the  seeds,  all 
ready !  But  do  you  know,  papa,"  continued  Frank,  as 
he  put  the  bag  of  seeds  into  his  father's  hands,  "  it  Was 
as  much  as  ever  we  could  do,  for  1  lost  so  much  time 
this  morning.  It  was  all  we  could  do  to  make  up  for  it 
this  evening.  And  though  there  were  so  many  of  us, 
and  though  we  all  went  on  as  fast  as  we  could,  I  am 
sure  we  should  never  have  finished  it  in  time  if  we  had 
not  managed  as  we  have  done." 

His  father  asked  him  in  what  manner  they  had  man- 
aged. Frank  explained,  and  showed  how  they  had 
divided  the  work  among  them,  so  as  to  save  time.  His 
father  told  him  that  manufacturers  and  workmen,  who 
are  obliged  to  do  a  great  deal  of  work  in  a  short  time, 
10 


110  PRANK. 

alwajTS,  if  they  are  wise,  help  one  another,  and  save 
time  in  the  same  maimer  that  he  and  his  brother  and 
cousins  had  done.  "  And  this,"  added  he,  turning  to 
Edward,  "  this  is  what  is  called  the  division  of  labour." 

"  In  making  this  pin,"  continued  he,  taking  a  pin  from 
Frank's  mother — "in  making  a  pin,  eighteen  different 
workmen  are  employed.  In  a  manufactory  for  making 
pins,  each  workman  does  that  part  which  he  can  do 
best.  One  man  draws  out  the  \s-ire  of  which  the  pins 
are  made;  another  straightens  it;  a  third  cuts  it;  a 
fourth  grinds  it  at  the  top,  ready  to  receive  the  heads. 
To  make  the  heads  requires  the  different  work  of  two 
Or  three  men.  Another  man'f  business  is  to  put  on  the 
heads;  another's,  to  sharpen  the  points;  and  sticking 
the  pins  in  the  papers  is  a  business  by  itself.  Now  one 
workman,  if  he  were  to  try  to  make  a  pin  without  any 
assistance  from  others,  could  not,  probably,  make  a 
single  pin;  certainly  he  would  not  be  able  to  make 
twenty  in  a  day.  But  with  even  nine  men  to  assist  him, 
dividing  the  labour  among  them  as  I  have  described  to 
you,  they  could  all  together  make  forty-eight  thousand 
pins  in  a  day ;  so  that  each  of  the  ten  men  might  be 
reckoned  to  make  four  thousand  eight  hundred  pins." 

"  Ten  men  make  forty-eight  thousand  pins  in  a  day  I'* 
cried  Frank ;  "  and  one  man  four  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred pins  ! — O  papa !  is  this  true  1"* 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  is  true,"  said  his  father.  "  When 
we  go  in,  your  brother  Edward  shall  read  to  us  an  ac- 
count of  this,  if  he  likes  it,  from  the  book  in  which  I 

*  "I  have  seen  f  small  matiufactory  of  this  Rind"  (viz.,  of  pin- 
making),  "  where  ten  men  only  were  employed,  and  where  some  of 
them,  consequently,  performed  two  or  three  distinct  operations. 
But,  though  they  were  very  poor,  and  therefore  but  indiflFerently  ac- 
commodated with  the  necessary  machinery,  they  couli^,  whert  they 
exerted  themselves,  make,  among  them,  about  twelve  pounds  of  pins 
in  a  day.  There  are,  in  a  pound,  upwards  of  four  thousand  pire  of 
a  middle  size.  Those  ten  persons,  therefore,  could  make  upwards 
of  forty-eight  thousand  pins  in  a  day.  Each  .person,  therefore, 
making  a  tenth  part  of  forty-eight  thousand  pins,  might  be  consider- 
ed as  making  four  thousand  eight  hundred  pms  in  a  day.  But,  if 
they  had  all  wrought  separately  and  independlently,  and  without  any 
of  them  having  been  educated  to  this  peculiar  business,  they  cer- 
tainly could  not  each  of  them  have  made  twenty,  perhaps  not  one 
pin  a  day ;  that  is  certainly  not  the  two  hundred  and  fortieth  part 
of  what  they  are  at  present  capable  of  performing,  in  consequence 
of  a  proper  division  and  combination  of  their  different  operations." — 
Smith's  iVealth  of  NatioTis,  vol.  i.,  page  6,  quarto  edition. 


FRANK.  in 

read  it. — But,  Frank,  look  what  comes  here!"  added 
his  father,  pointing  to  a  labourer,  who  now  came  into 
the  garden  witli  a  great  bundle  of  straw — "  Where 
would  you  like  to  have  it  put  ?" 

Frank  chose  to  have  it  in  his  garden-house ;  and  his 
father  ordered  that  it  should  be  put  there.  Then  Frank 
thanked  his  brother  and  cousins  for  helping  him  so 
kindly ;  and  he  said  that  he  thought  he  should  never 
forget  the  advantage  of  the  division  of  labour. 


Some  time  ago,  Frank  had  told  his  father  that  he 
would  persevere  in  trying  to  learn  to  read,  that  he  might 
be  able  to  employ  and  to  entertain  himself.  He  did  as 
he  said  that  he  would  do.  He  persevered  till  he  had 
learned  to  read  quite  easily.  Then  he  read,  in  books 
which  his  mother  lent  him,  accounts  of  the  camel ;  of 
which,  ever  since  he  had  seen  the  print  of  it,  he  had 
wished  to  know  the  history.  He  read  also  entertaining 
accounts  of  the  elephant,  and  of  many  other  animals. 
In  the.books  which  were  lent  to  him,  he  read  only  what 
he  could  understand ;  when  he  came  to  any  thing  that 
he  did  not  understand,  he  asked  his  father  or  mother  to 
explain  it  to  him.  If  they  had  not  time  to  attend  to 
him,  or  to  answer  his  questions,  he  went  on  to  some 
other  part  of  the  book  which  he  could  understand  ;  or 
he  left  oflf  reading,  and  went  to  do  something  else. 
Whenever  he  felt  tired  of  reading,  or  whenever  he 
wanted  to  hear  or  see  something  that  was  going  on  in 
the  room  with  him,  and  found  that  he  could  not  attend 
to  what  he  was  reading,  he  always  shut  the  book,  and 
put  it  away — he  never  kept  a  book  before  him  when  he 
was  tired  or  sleepy,  or  when  he  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing else. 

So  Frank  became  very  fond  of  reading.  He  could 
now  employ  himself  happily  on  rainy  days,  when  he 
could  not  run  out  of  doors,  or  when  he  had  no  one  to 
talk  or  to  play  with  in  the  house.  At  night,  when  the 
candles  came,  and  when  all  the  rest  of  the  family  began 
to  read,  Frank  also  could  read ;  and  he  said — 

"  Papa,  now  I  am  as  happy  as  you  are  when  the 
candles  come ! — Thank  you,  mamma,  for  teachiUjg  me 
to  read.^ 


112  FRANK. 

His  mother  gave  him  a  book  called  "  The  BooA  of 
Trades"    When  she  gave  it  to  him,  she  said  to  him — 

"  Frank,  there  are  many  parts  of  this  book  which  you 
cannot  yet  miderstand :  but  you  will,  I  think,  be  enter- 
tained by  looking  over  the  prints  of  the  men  and  women 
at  work  at  their  different  trades,  and  you  will  under- 
stand some  of  the  descriptions  of  what  they  are  doing." 

Frank  thanked  his  mother,  and  he  looked  over  all  the 
prints  in  the  four  voliimes  of  this  book.  He  looked  at 
each  print  carefully,  and  examined  every  thing  in  it 
before  he  turned  over  the  leaf  to  look  for  another.  He 
was  pleased  with  the  print  of  the  chandler  making 
candles ;  and  of  the  shoemaker  making  shoes  ;  and  of 
the  turner  turning  at  his  lathe ;  and  of  the  roperaaker 
making  ropes ;  and  of  the  weaver  working  at  his  loom. 
After  he  had  looked  at  these  prints,  he  read  some  of  the 
explanations  and  descriptions,  in  hopes  that  he  should 
be  better  able  to  understand  the  prints.  He  began  with 
the  chandler,  who,  as  his  mother  told  him,  is  a  person 
•who  makes  candles:  and  Frank  was  curious  to  know 
how  candles  are  made.  But  there  were  several  words 
in  this  account  of  candle-making,  of  which  he  did  not 
know  the  meaning  ;  and  there  was  one  whole  sentence, 
about  bales  of  cotton  performing  quarantine,  which  puz- 
zled him  sadly.  His  mother  explained  to  him  several 
of  the  words  which  he  did  not  understand;  but  she 
told  him  that  she  could  not  then  explain  to  him  what 
was  meant  by  performing  quarantine ;  and  that  he  could 
understand  how  candles  were  made  without  having  this 
sentence  explained  to  him. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  I  do  now  know  pretty  weH 
how  they  are  made,  but  I  think  I  should  understand  it 
all  a  great  deal  better  if  I  were  to  see  it  done — mamma, 
I  wish  I  could  see  somebody  making  candles.'* 

A  few  days  afterward  Frank's  mother  caUed  him  to 
her,  and  told  him  that  the  cook  was  going  to  make  some 
candles.    "  Should  you  like  to  see  them  made,  Frank  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  much  indeed !''  said  Frank  :  "thank  you, 
mamma,  for  calling  me." 

Then  his  mother  took  him  to  the  room  where  the 
cook  was  preparing  to  make  mould  candles.  The  first 
thing  he  saw  was  a  large  saucepan,  which  the  cook  had 
taken  oflf  the  fire  to  cool.  Frank  asked  what  was  in 
the  saucepan.  He  was  told  that  it  was  full  of  melted 
mutton  suet.    Some  suet,  which  had  not  been  melted, 


FRANK.  113 

was  shown  to  him ;  he  said  that  it  looked  like  cold  fat ; 
and  he  was  told  that  this  suet  was  the  fat  of  mutton. 

The  next  tiling  which  Frank  saw  was  a  wooden 
frame,  or  stand,  about  the  height  of  a  common  table. 
In  this  stand  were  a  number  of  round  holes,  through 
each  of  which  hung  a  tube,  or  hollow  pipe  of  pewter, 
the  size  of  a  candle.  These  hollow  pipes  were  taper ; 
that  is,  narrower  at  one  end  than  at  the  other,  and  grow- 
ing narrower  and  narrower  by  degrees.  The  largest 
ends  were  uppermost  as  the  pipes  hung  in  the  frame ; 
so  that  they  looked  like  the  shapes  of  candles,  with  the 
part  that  is  usually  lighted  hanging  downwards ;  at  the 
narrow  end,  these  pewter  tubes  were  made  in  the  shape 
of  the  top  of  a  tallow  candle  before  it  is  lighted. 

"  Man»ma !  I  know  what  this  is  !"  cried  Frank ;  *'  and 
I  know  what  it  is  for.  It  is  the  same  sort  of  thing  which 
I  saw  in  the  print  of  the  tallow-chandler,  in  the  Book 
of  Trades.  These  pipes  are  the  moulds  in  which  the 
candles  are  to  be  made ;  the  melted  stuff,  the  melted 
suet,  is  to  be  poured  into  this  open  mouth,  and  it  runs 
all  the  way  down,  down.  Then  it  is  left  to  cool,  and 
then  it  is  pulled  out,  and  the  candle  is  made — this  broad- 
est end  is  the  bottom  of  the  candle,  which  is  to  go  into 
the  candlestick,  and  this  narrow  end  the  top — it  is  hang- 
ing upside  down  now.  You  see  I  understand  it  all, 
mamma  V 

"  Stay,  Frank,  do  not  be  in  such  a  hurry ;  do  not  be 
too  quick.  You  do  not  understand  it  all  yet.  You  have 
not  observed  or  discovered  some  things  in  these  moulds 
which  are  necessary  to  be  known ;  and  you  have  for- 
gotten the  most  material  part  of  a  candle." 

"  What  can  that  be,  mamma?    Tell  me,  pray." 

"  I  would  rather  that  you  should  think,  and  find  it  out 
for  yourself,  Frank." 


Frank  considered  a  little,  and  then  answered— 

"  Mamma,  I  have  thought  of  every  thing,  and  I  can 
think  of  nothing  else.  Here  are  the  moulds,  and  the 
melted  grease  which  is  to  be  poured  into  the  mould  to 
make  the  candle.     What  can  be  wanting  V 

*'  How  would  you  light  the  candle  V  said  his  mother. 

*'  By  the  wick,  to  be  sure  ! — O,  the  wick ! — I  forgot 
the  wickl — Where  is  the- wick? — What  is  the  wick 
made  of?" 


il4  PRANK. 

"  It  is  made  of  cotton — look  here,  master !"  said  the 
cook,  showing  him  a  ball  of  coarse  cotton. 

"  And  how  do  you  get  this  cotton  into  the  middle  of 
the  candle  1" 

"  That  I  will  show  you,  sir,"  said  the  cook. 

She  then  took  one  of  the  candle-mouHs  out  of  the 
wooden  frame  in  which  it  hung ;  and  Frank  looked  at 
the  narrow  end  which  had  hung  downwards,  and  he 
saw  at  the  bottom  a  little  hole  ;  and  he  said — 

"  Here  is  a  little  hole  ;  this  must  be  stopped,  or  else 
all  the  melted  tallow  will  run  through  it.  Shzill  I  stop 
it  up  with  this  bit  of  paper,  mamma  1  I  will  roU  it  up 
and  make  a  stopper,  shall  I  ■?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  master,"  said  the  cook ;  "  you  shall 
see  how  I  will  stop  it  up." 

Then  she  doubled  the  cotton  which  she  held  in  her 
hand ;  and  she  cut  off  as  much  as  would  reach  from  one 
end  of  the  candle-mould  to  the  other,  and  a  little  more. 
Then  she  put  the  cotton,  just  where  she  had  doubled  it, 
in  at  the  broadest  end  of  the  mould,  and  she  let  it  fall 
all  down  the  pipe  1o  the  small  hole  at  the  narrow  end ; 
and  by  means  of  a  wire  she  drew  the  cotton  through 
the  hole,  leaving  a  loop  of  cotton  as  long  as  that  which 
is  commonly  seen  at  the  wick  of  a  tallow  candle  which 
has  not  been  lighted.  Then  she  stuck  a  peg  of  wood 
into  the  little  hole ;  this  peg,  together  with  the  cotton 
which  had  been  put  through  the  hole,  stopped  it  up  com- 
pletely, so  that  none  of  the  melted  tallow  could  run 
through  it.  She  next  tied  the  other  ends  of  the  cotton 
together,  and  put  a  small  bit  of  wood,  like  a  skewer, 
through  the  loop,  which  she  had  made  by  tying  the  cot- 
ton together.  This  skewer  lay  across  the  broad  end  of 
the  mould,  and  fitted  into  two  notches  in  the  outer  rim 
of  the  mould,  at  opposite  sides.  The  cotton  was  now 
tight  in  the  mould  from  top  to  bottom.  Frank  looked 
into  the  mould  and  saw  that  it  was  so. 

"  Cook,  why  are  you  so  careful  to  make  the  cotton 
tight,  and  to  put  it  just  in  the  middle  of  the  mould!" 
said  Frank. 

"  That  the  wick  of  my  candle  maybe  in  the  middle,** 
said  the  cook.  "  In  good  candles  the  wick  must  always 
be  in  the  middle." 

When  the  cook  had  put  cotton  in  the  same  manner 
into  all  the  moulds,  she  was  ready  to  pour  the  melted 
tallow  in  them.    Frank  was  afraid  that  the  tallow  had 


FRANK.  116 

grown  cold,  because  the  saucepan  in  which  it  was  had 
been  taken  off  the  fire  some  time.  But  the  cook  said  it 
was  quite  warm  enough ;  that  it  would  not  make  good 
candles  if  it  was  very  hot.  As  Frank  now  went  close 
to  the  large  saucepan,  he  saw  that  there  was  a  smaller 
saucepan  withinside  of  it.  The  smaller  saucepan  held 
the  melted  tallow;  and  between  the  large  and  the 
smaller  saucepan,  the  space  was  filled  with  water  :  both 
at  the  sides  and  at  the  bottom,  between  the  small  and 
large  saucepan,  there  was  water.  Frank  asked  the  rea- 
son of  this. 

The  cook  answered,  "  Master,  it  is  to  hinder  my  tallow 
from  burning,  or  being  made  too  hot ;  which  would  spoil 
it,  as  I  told  you." 

"  But  how  does  the  water  hinder  the  tallow  from  being 
made  too  hot ;  for  the  water  is  hot  itself,  is  not  it  V 

"  It  is,  master ;  but  still  it  keeps  the  tallow  from  being 
too  hot — 1  can't  say  how ;  but  I  know  it  is  so,  and  I  al- 
ways do  it  so." 

"  But  I  ask  the  reason — I  want  to  know  the  reason, 
mamma,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  will  endeavour  to  explain  the  reason  to  you  some 
other  time,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother ;  "  but,  first,  let 
us  look  at  what  the  cook  is  doing,  that  you  may  not  miss 
seeing  how  candles  are  made." 

Frank  looked,  and  he  saw  the  cook  replace  all  the 
pewter  moulds  in  the  wooden  frame,  with  the  narrow 
ends  downwards,  and  the  broadest  ends  uppermost ;  and 
into  the  open  mouth  of  the  broadest  end,  which  was  up- 
permost, she  poured,  carefully  and  slowly,  the  melted 
tallow  from  the  spout  of  the  saucepan  into  each  of  the 
candle-moulds.  She  poured  it  not  over  the  cotton  at 
the  top,  but  on  each  side  of  it,  so  as  to  leave  the  cotton, 
and  the  skewer  that  was  put  through  it,  standing  above 
the  grease  when  the  mould  was  filled  nearly  to  the  top. 
"When  this  was  done,  the  cook  said  that  they  must  leave 
the  tallow  to  cool :  and  that  it  would  be  some  time  be- 
fore it  could  be  cool. 

Frank  went  away  with  his  mother,  and  he  asked  her 
if  she  could  now  answer  the  question  about  the  hot 
water.  But  just  then  his  father  called  her,  and  she  had 
not  time  to  answer  Frank. 

She  was  busy  all  the  rest  of  the  morning,  and  Frank 
went  to  his  garden  and  worked  in  it ;  when  he  was  tired 
of  working,  he  trundled  his  hoop  upon  the  walk,  and 


116  PRANK. 

kept  it  up  till  he  was  tired  of  running  after  it.  It  begari 
to  rain,  and  then  he  went  into  the  house  and  learned  by 
heart  some  of  the  multiplication  table,  which  his  mother 
had  desired  him  to  learn. 

Some  company  dined  this  day  with  his  father  and 
mother ;  and  his  mother  could  not  talk  to  him  again  till 
after  the  company  had  gone  away,  in  the  evening. 
Frank  was  glad  when  the  company  was  gone,  and  when 
his  mother  had  again  time  to  attend  to  him. 


The  next  day  Frank  asked  his  mother  to  take  him  to 
look  at  the  candles  ;  he  said  that  he  hoped  the  cook 
had  not  taken  them  out  of  the  moulds,  for  he  wished 
to  see  that  done.  The  cook  had  not  taken  them  out ; 
for  his  mother  had  desired  that  she  should  not  do  this 
till  Frank  should  be  present.  The  first  thing  the  cook 
did  was  to  pull  out  the  pegs  which  she  had  stuck  be- 
tween the  cotton  of  the  wick  into  the  little  holes  at  the 
smallest  end  of  the  moulds ;  then  she  took  hold  of  the 
cotton  loop  through  which  the  bit  of  stick  had  been 
put  at  the  larger  end  of  the  mould,  and  she  drew  it  up 
gently ;  and  with  the  cotton  came  the  tallow  out  of  the 
mould,  in  the  shape  of  a  candle ;  and  as  it  came  out, 
Frank  exclaimed, 

"  It  is  a  real  candle,  indeed ! — Shall  we  light  it,  mam- 
ma?" 

"  Not  yet,  my  dear.  It  is  not  hard  enough.  It  must 
be  hung  up  for  two  or  three  days  before  it  will  be  fit  to 
be  used." 

The  cook  drew  all  the  candles  out  of  the  moulds,  and 
she  hung  them  up  to  harden. 

"  Well,  now,  mamma,  I  have  observed  carefully  all 
that  has  been  done ;  and  I  have  not  been  too  quick,  have 
1 1  I  have  learned  something  accurately,  as  you  say. 
Now  I  know  how  to  make  candles !" 

"  You  have  seen  how  candles  are  made;  that  is,  you 
have  seen  how  mould  candles  are  made.  These  are 
called  mould  candles,  because  they  are  made  in  a  mould ; 
but  there  are  other  ways  of  making  candles." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  the  man  in  the  Book  of  Trades 
says  that  there  are  dipped  candles  as  well  as  mould 
candles." 

"  Yes,  master,"  said  the  cook ;  "  the  dipped  candles 
are  made  by  dipping  the  wick  into  the  tallow,  then  letting 


FRANK.  1 17 

it  dry,  and  then  dipping  it  again  in  the  tallow ;  and  every 
time  more  and  more  sticks  to  the  candle ;  and  it  is  left 
to  dry  between  every  dipping ;  till  at  last  it  is  the  size 
the  candle  should  be.  Then,  besides  dipping  candles 
and  mould  candles,  there  aire  rushlights,  master ;  such 
as  the  poor  people  use  here  in  their  cottages,  you  know." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Frank.  "  Tell  me,  what  are 
rushlights  ?    Are  they  made  of  rushes  1" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Oh !  tell  me  how  they  are  made  !" 

"  If  I  can,  I  will  take  you  this  evening  to  the  cottage 
of  that  good-natured  old  woman  who  showed  you  her 
spinning-wheel,"  said  his  mother ;  "  and  I  will  ask  her 
to  show  you  how  rushlights  are  made." 

"  Thank  you,  mamma.  Are  there  any  other  sorts  of 
candles !"  I 

"  There  is  another  sort,  which  you  have  seen,  and 
that  is  not  made  of  tallow." 

"I  recollect — wax  candles, mamma." 

•'  They  may  be  made  nearly  in  the  same  manner  that 
dipped  tallow  candles  are  made — only  that  melted  wax 
is  poured  over  the  wick  instead  of  the  wick  being  dipped 
into  the  wax.  The  wax  candle  is  rolled  upon  a  smooth 
table,  to  make  it  smooth  and  round.  There  are  other 
ways  of  making  wax  candles ;  but  I  will  not  tell  you 
any  more  at  present,  lest  you  should  not  be  able  to  re- 
member all  that  you  have  seen  and  heard." 

*'  But,  mamma,  tell  me  one  thing  more,"  said  Frank, 
and  he  followed  his  mother  up  stairs.  "  Wax,  I  know, 
is  made  by  bees,  and  wax  candles  are  made  of  wax ; 
but  there  is  another  kind  of  wax  candles,  or  of  candle 
that  looks  like  wax.  It  has  a  long,  hard  name,  which  I 
cannot  remember." 

"  Do  you  mean  spermaceti  f 

"  Yes — spermaceti.     "What  is  that  ?" 

"  Spermaceti  is  a  fatty  substance  prepared  from  the 
brain  of  a  species  of  whale.  You  have  seen  the  print 
of  a  whale,  and  have  read  an  account  of  a  whale  1" 

"  Yes  ;  the  great  fish — the  largest  of  fishes — I  remem- 
ber. I  never  should  have  guessed  that  candles  were 
made  of  any  part  of  a  fish.  Mamma,  what  a  number  of 
things  we  must  know  before  we  can  know  well  how 
any  one  thing  is  made  or  done." 

"  Very  true,  my  dear  little  boy ;  and  I  am  glad  to  see 
that  you  wish  to  acquire  or  get  knowledge." 


118 


PRANK. 


His  mother  could  not  talk  to  him  any  more  this  morn- 
ing, but  in  the  evening  she  called  him  and  said,  "  Now, 
Frank,  you  may  walk  with  your  father  and  me  to  Mrs. 
Wheeler's  cottage." 

"  To  the  good-natured  old  woman's !  O !  I  am  glad 
of  that,  mamma !"  said  Frank. 

He  ran  for  his  hat,  and  he  was  ready  in  an  instant ; 
for  he  was  happy  to  go  with  his  father  and  mother.  It 
was  a  fine  evening,  and  the  walk  was  pleasant,  through 
pretty  paths,  in  green  fields;  and  there  were  stiles, 
which  Frank  liked  to  get  over.  He  showed  his  father 
how  quickly  he  could  get  over  them. 

"  Look,  papa,  how  well  I  can  jump !  how  I  can  vault 
over  this  stile  1  You  know,  you  said,  that  men  ought 
to  be  active.     Now,  papa,  am  not  I  active  1" 

Frank  ran  on  without  waiting  for  an  answer ;  and  he 
ran  till  he  came  to  a  rivulet,  or  little  river,  or  brook, 
which  crossed  the  path.  There  he  stopped,  and  stood 
still,  for  there  was  only  a  narrow  plank  or  board  across 
the  stream ;  and  the  hand-rail,  by  which  Frank  used  to 
hold  when  he  walked  over,  had  been  broken  since  he 
had  last  been  at  this  place.  The  rail  had  fallen  into  the 
water,  and  there  was  nothing  by  which  Frank  could 
hold.     His  father  and  mother  came  up  to  him. 

"  Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  what  is  the  matter  1  You 
look  very  melancholy." 

'*  Yes,  papa,  because  I  am  afraid  we  must  turn  back. 
We  cannot  go  on." 

*^  Why  not,  my  dear  V 

"  Look  at  this  broken  bridge,  papa — " 

"  Broken  hand-rail  of  a  bridge,  you  mean,  Frank.  The 
bridge  is  not  broken.  This  plank  is  as  broad  and  as 
strong  as  it  was  before ;  and  you  know  you  have  walked 
over  it  safely.  You  see  it  will  bear  my  weight ;  and  I 
am  much  heavier  than  you  are,"  said  his  father,  stand- 
ing on  the  plank. 

"  Yes,  papa ;  so  I  see — " 

"And  you  see,"  said  his  father,  walking  over  the 
bridge,  "  you  see  that  I  can  walk  over  it,  though  there 
is  no  hand-rail." 

"Yes,  papa,  so  I  see,"  said  Frank;  but  he  stood  still, 
without  attempting  to  follow  his  father. 

*'  Come  on,  my  boy,"  said  his  father ;  "  unless  you 
mean  to  stand  there  all  night." 


FRANK.  119 

*•  No,  papa — yes,  papa — mamma,  will  you  go  first  ?" 

His  mother  went  over  the  bridge ;  still  Frank  felt 
afraid  to  follow ;  but  when  his  father  said,  "Men  ought 
to  be  brave — boys  should  conquer  their  fears,"  Frank 
tried  to  conquer  his  fear ;  and  he  put  his  foot  upon  the 
bridge,  and  his  father  held  out  his  hand  to  him,  and  he 
walked  on,  slowly  at  first,  and  quicker  afterward,  till  he 
got  quite  across.     Then  he  said, 

"  Papa,  I  will  go  back  again,  and  do  it  better." 

He  went  back  again,  and  walked  quite  stoutly  over 
the  plaiik,  his  father  holding  his  hand.  And  then  he 
said, 

"  Papa,  I  will  do  it  without  holding  your  hand." 

So  he  did.  And  he  went  backwards  and  forwards 
two  or  three  times,  till  he  had  quite  conquered  his  fear. 
Then  he  felt  glad,  and  pleased  with  himself,  especially 
when  his  mother  smiled  upon  him,  and  said, 

"  That  is  right,  Frank,  my  dear.  This  puts  me  in 
mind  of  a  little  boy  who  conquered  his  fear  as  you  have 
done." 

"  Who  was  that,  mamma  T" 

"  A  little  boy  who  was  younger  than  you  are." 
■"^"Was  it  a  real  boy,  mammal — And  is  it  a  true 
story !" 

•'  It  is  a  true  story  of  a  real  boy — ^he  was  about  five 
years  old." 

"  Much  yovmger  than  1  am !"  cried  Frank.  "  Well, 
mamma." 

"  When  this  little  boy  was  taken  to  the  seashore,  to 
be  bathed  for  the  first  time  in  the  sea,  he  was  afraid 
when  he  saw  the  wave  of  the  sea  coming,  and  when  he 
felt  it  going  over  him." 

"  So  should  I  have  been,  I  dare  say,  mamma." 

"  But  he  was  ashamed  of  having  been  afraid,  and  he 
was  determined  to  conquer  his  fear ;  and  he  turned  to 
the  sea  and  said, '  Wave,  do  that  again ! — Wave,  come 
over  me  again!' — And  the  next  time  he  showed  no 
fear." 

"  What  was  the  name  of  the  boy,  mamma  1  and  who 
were  his  father  and  mother  T" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  their  names,  my  dear ;  but  I  can 
tell  you  that  the  boy  is  son  to  the  greatest  general,  the 
greatest  hero  in  England." 

"  The  greatest  hero — O,  then  I  know  who  he  is,  mam- 
ma."    . 


n6 


FRANK. 


When  they  came  to  Mrs.  Wheeler's  cottage,  Frank's 
father  went  into  a  field  near  the  house,  with  the  old 
woman's  son,  to  look  at  a  fine  crop  of  oats ;  and  Frank's 
mother  took  him  into  the  house,  where  they  found  Mrs. 
Wheeler  getting  ready  her  grandson's  supper.  She 
stopped  doing  what  she  was  about  when  she  saw  Frank 
and  his  mother.  She  looked  glad  to  see  them,  and  said 
— "  You  are  welcome,  madam — you're  welcome,  master; 
be  pleased  to  sit  down."  Then  she  seta  chair  for  mad- 
am, and  a  little  stool  for  master,  and  she  swept  the 
hearth  quite  clean;  and  she  called  to  a  little  girl  of 
about  six  years  old,  who  was  in  the  room,  and  bid  her 
run  to  the  garden,  and  gather  some  strawberries,  and 
bring  them  in  for  Frank.  Frank  thanked  this  good-na- 
tured old  woman ;  but  he  said — 

"  I  did  not  come  to  beg  strawberries ;  and  though  I 
love  strawberries  very  much,  I  do  not  wish  to  have  any 
of  yours,  because  I  believe  you  have  but  very  few  for 
yourself.  What  I  want  you  to  do  for  me  is,  to  show  me 
how  you  make  rush  candles." 

"That  I  will,  with  pleasure,  master,"  said  Mrs. 
Wheeler. 

"  But,  Mrs.  Wheeler,  first  finish  what  you  were  about 
when  we  came  in,"  said  Frank's  mother — "  I  beUeve 
you  were  getting  ready  your  supper." 

"It  is  George's,  my  grandson's  supper,  madam." 

"  Then  it  is  not  fair  that  your  George  should  lose  his 
supper  because  my  Frank  wants  to  see  rushlights 
made,"  said  Frank's  mother,  smiling. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Frank.  "  And  I  dare  say  that  her 
George,  mamma,  will  be  very  hungry  when  he  comes 
in ;  for  I  saw  him  working  hard  in  the  fields — and  I  am 
always  very  hungry  when  I  have  been  working  hard. 
Pray,  Mrs.  Wheeler,  finish  getting  ready  George's  sup- 
per— I  can  wait  as  long  as  you  please ;  and  I  wish  I 
could  do  something  for  you,  as  you  are  going  to  do  some- 
thing for  me.  Let  me  carry  those  sticks  to  the  fire — I 
can  do  that — and  you  may  go  on  with  your  cooking." 

"  God  bless  you !  master,"  said  the  old  woman ;  "bat 
this  is  too  great  a  load  for  your  little  arms." 

"  Let  me  try,"  said  Frank. 

"  Yes,  let  him  try,"  said  his  mother :  "  he  loves  to  be 
useful." 

"And  I  am  useful,  too!"  cried  Frank,  carrying  the 
great  bundle  of  sticks  to  the  fire. 


FRANK.  121 

His  mother  began  to  show  him  how  to  put  them  on 
the  fire — 

"  But,"  said  she,  •'  some  of  these  are  wet,  and  they 
will  not  burn  readily." 

"Ay,"  said  the  old  woman,  "I  am  afraid  that  is  a 
wet  bundle — I  took  it  from  the  wrong  place :  yonder,  in 
that  corner,  are  all  the  dry  fagots." 

Frank  had  never  heard  the  word  fagots  before,  and 
he  did  not  hear  it  quite  plainly  now  ;  but  he  saw  what 
the  old  woman  meant,  because  she  pointed  to  the  place 
where  the  fagots  lay.  So  he  ran  directly  for  another 
bundle  of  sticks,  and  he  carried  it  towards  the  fire;  and, 
throwing  it  down  beside  his  mother,  said — 

"  There,  mamma,  there's  another  maggot,  and  a  dry 
maggot,  (or  you  V  ... --;    i».iU 

"  Fagot,  not  jnaggot,"  said  his  mother.  "'  '  "   '' 

"  Maggot !"  cried  the  old  woman,  laughing  with  her 
arms  akimbo ;  "  Lord  bless  him  !  don't  he  know  the 
difference  betwixt  a  maggot  and  a  fagot  ?" 

"  What  is  the  difl'erence  f  said  Frank. 

*'  Why,  master ! — a  maggot ! — Lord  help  us !" — the 
old  woman  began,  as  well  as  she  could  speak,  while  she 
was  laughing. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  turning  to  his  mother,  "  Mam- 
ma, I  would  rather  you  would  tell  me ;  because  you 
will  tell  me  without  laughing  at  me." 

The  old  woman,  who  saw  that  Frank  did  not  like  to 
be  laughed  at,  but  who  could  not  stop  herself,  turned 
her  back  that  he  might  not  see  her ;  but  he  saw  her 
sides  shaking  all  the  time  his  mother  was  explaining  to 
him  the  difference  between  maggot  and  fagot. 

"  A  maggot  is  a  small  worm ;  and  a  fagot  is  a  bundle 
of  sticks." 

*'  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Frank. 

"  Well,  Frank,  now  I  have  told  you,  can  you  tell  me 
what  is  a  maggot,  and  what  is  a  fagot  ?" 

*'  A  maggot,  mamma,  is — mamma  I  did  not  hear — I 
could  not  attend  to  what  you  said,  because — ^" 

The  old  woman  walked  out  of  the  room,  and  stood 
laughing  in  the  passage. 

"  Mamma,"  whispered  Frank,  "  I  shall  not  call  Mrs. 
Wheeler  my  good-natured  old  woman  any  more,  because 
she  is  laughing  at  me." 

"  Then,  Frank,  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  call  you  my  good- 
humoured  little  boy  any  more.  What  harm  does  her 
U  F 


122  FRANK. 

laughing  do  you,  Frank  1 — Let  us  see,  has  it  broken  any 
of  your  bones  V 

"No,"  said  Fr?ink,  smiling;  "but  I  don't  like  to  be 
laughed  at  much — especially  for  not  knowing  any  thing." 

"  Then,  to  avoid  being  laughed  at  again  for  the  same 
thing,  had  not  you  better  learn  that  which  you  did  not 
knowV 

"  I  had.  Now,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  turning  his  back 
to  the  door,  so  that  he  could  no  longer  see  Mrs.  Wheeler 
— "  now,  if  you  will  be  so  good  to  tell  me  again,  I  will 
attend,  if  I  possibly  can ;  but  I  was  so  much  ashamed, 
mamma — " 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  there  is  nothing  shame- 
ful in  not  knowing  the  meaning  of  words  which  you 
never  heard  before.  When  you  have  not  done  any 
thing  wrong  or  foolish,  never  mind  being  laughed  at — a 
man  should  never  mind  being  laughed  at  for  a  trifling 
mistake." 

"  Mamma,  I  wiU  never  mind — tell  me  now,  and  I  will 
show  you  I  never  mind." 

His  mother  repeated  to  him  the  explanation  of  the 
two  words ;  and  as  soon  as  he  knew  this,  he  ran  to  the 
door,  and  called  out  very  loud — 

"  A  maggot  is  a  small  worm,  and  a  fagot  is  a  bundle 
of  sticks  ! — You  need  not  laugh  any  more,  Mrs.  Wheel- 
er!" 

"  O  master,  I  ask  your  pardon — I  will  not  laugh  any 
more — I  was  very  rude — I  ask  your  pardon — but  I'm 
foolish,  and  could  not  help  it — I  hope  you  are  not  angry, 
master.  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Wheeler,  coming  back  into 
the  kitchen,  and  courtesying,  "you  are  not  angry, 
madam?" 

"  Mamma  is  not  angry  at  all,"  said  Frank ;  "  and  1 
was  only  a  little  angry ;  and  it  is  over  now — come  in, 
come  in,"  said  he,  pulling  her  by  the  hand,  "  and  look 
how  well  the  fire  is  burning  that  1  and  mamma — that 
mamma  and  1  made. 

"  Bless  your  little  soul !  that  forgives  and  forgets  in  a 
minute,"  said  the  old  woman — "  1  wonder  Hannah  is 
not  in  with  the  strawberries." 

"  I  don't  want  the  strawberries  yet,"  said  Frank ; 
"  you  have  not  put  the  pot  on  the  fire  to  boil  the  supper 
for  George — won't  you  put  it  on  now  ^" 


I'RANK.  123 


Mrs.  Wheeler  put  the  pot  on,  and  while  the  supper 
was  boiling  for  George  she  showed  Frank  how  to  make 
rushlights.  First,  she  took  down  from  a  hook  on  which 
they  hung  a  bundle  of  rushes.  Frank  had  seen  rushes 
growing  in  a  field  near  his  father's  house ;  and  he  had 
gathered  some  of  them,  and  had  peeled  them ;  and  he 
knew  that  in  the  inside  of  the  rush  there  is  a  white 
soft  substance  called  pith.  But  when  he  had  attempted 
to  peel  rushes,  he  had  always  been  a  great  while  about 
it ;  and  he  had  seldom  been  able  to  peel  more  than  about 
the  length  of  his  finger  of  the  rush  without  breaking  the 
white  pith.  Mrs.  Wheeler,  in  an  instant,  stripped  the 
rush  of  its  thick  green  outside,  all  except  one  narrow 
stripe  or  rib  of  green,  which  she  left  to  support  the  soft 
pith;  and  she  peeled,  without  breaking  it^  the  whole 
length  of  the  pith  contained  in  the  rush,  which  was 
almost  as  long  as  Frank's  arm. 

"  Can  you  guess,  Frank,  what  part  of  a  candle  this 
rush  is  to  be  1"  said  his  mother. 

Frank  thought  for  a  little  while,  and  then  answered 
that  he  supposed  the  rush  would  be  made  into  the  wick 
of  the  candle,  and  that  it  would  serve  instead  of  the 
cotton  which  he  had  seen  used  by  the  cook  in  making 
mould  candles. 

"  Yes,  master,  you  have  guessed  right,"  said  Mrs. 
WTieeler. 

Then  she  brought  from  a  corner  near  the  fire  a 
gresset,  or  small  pan,  in  which  there  was  melted  grease. 
Frank  gave  the  rush  to  her  to  dip  into  it :  but  she  said 
that  it  would  not  make  a  good  rush  candle,  because  it 
had  not  been  left  to  dry  for  some  days.  She  took 
another  peeled  rush  from  a  bundle  which  hung  up  in  a 
press  by  the  fireside.  This,  which  had  hung  there,  as 
she  said,  for  two  or  three  days,  was  drier  and  less  white 
than  that  which  had  been  freshly  peeled.  She  drew 
the  rush  through  the  melted  grease,  and  she  said — 

"  It  will  be  cool,  and  fit  to  bum,  in  about  five  minutes." 

In  about  five  minutes  it  was  cool,  and  the  old  woman 
lighted  it,  and  it  burnt;  but  there  was  so  much  day- 
light in  the  room,  as  the  setting  sun  was  shining  full 
upon  the  window,  that  the  light  of  the  small  rush  candle 
could  scarcely  be  seen.  Therefore  Mrs.  Wheeler  took 
it  into  another  room,  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  house, 
where  the  sun  did  not  shine  at  this  time.  There,  when 
F2 


124  FRANK. 

I 

she  had  shut  the  shutters,  the  flame  of  the  rushlight 
was  plainly  seen.  Frank  observed  that  this  rush  caiidle 
did  not  give  nearly  so  much  light  as  a  thick  taUow 
candle  did.  Mrs.  Wheeler  said  that  she  could  not  afford 
to  buy  tallow  candles  often,  and  that  these  rushlights 
were  enough  for  her.  Frank  perceived  that  after  he 
had  been  a  little  while  in  this  room,  he  could  see  the 
things  in  it  better  than  he  did  when  the  shutters  were 
first  closed,  and  when  his  eyes  had  been  dazzled  by  the 
sunshine.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  could  make 
out  the  words  at  the  bottom  of  a  print,  to  which  the  old 
woman  held  the  light. 

"  Mamma,  I  could  scarcely  see  it  before,  and  now  I 
can  see  it  quite  plainly,  and  1  will  read  it  to  you." 

He  read  aloud — 

" '  For  want  of  a  nail  the  s)ioe  was  lost ; 
For  want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  wm  lost.'  *' 

Just  as  Frank  got  to  "  the  horse  was  lost^''  the  rushlight 
was  burnt  out. 

"  O  ! — Is  the  candle  gone  so  soon  ?"  cried  Frank. 
"  Mamma,"  continued  Frank,  turning  to  his  mother, 
while  Mrs.  Wheeler  opened  the  shutters — "  mamma, 
you  know  such  a  candle  as  that  would  last  at  home  the 
whole  night — several  hours  a  rush  candle  lasts  at  home, 
mamma." 

"  Do  you  think  that  the  candles'  being  at  home  makes 
any  difference  as  to  their  burning  ?"  said  Frank's  moth- 
er, smiling. 

"  No,  no,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  laughing  :  "  I  know 
that  the  rush  candles  which  we  have  at  home  would 
bum  as  long  a  time  here  as  they  do  at  our  house.  But 
I  mean  that  ours  burn  longer,  because  there  is  more 
grease  or  tallow  about  them.  Mamma,  if  there  was  no 
tallow  about  this  rush,  would  it  burn  at  all  1  or  would  it 
burn  away  a  great  deal  sooner  than  it  does  now  ?" 

"  Try,  and  you  will  see,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother. 

Mrs.  Wheeler  gave  Frank  a  peeled  rush,  and  he 
lighted  it  at  the  fire,  and  it  burnt ;  but  the  flame  was 
not  bright,  and  it  soon  went  out.  Frank  dipped  it  into 
the  grease,  and  it  burnt  better.  Mrs.  Wheeler  went  to 
see  if  George's  supper  was  ready :  and  Frank  continued 
talking  to  his  mother — 

"  Mamma,  I  believe  it  is  the  melted  grease  that  bvuns, 
and  makes  the  bright  flame  of  the  candle :  but  I  do  not 


FRANK.  '125 

know  how.  Mamma,  what  becomes  of  the  grease,  or 
the  tallow,  when  the  candle  bums  ?" 

"  Do  not  you  see  the  smoke  that  rises  from  the  top 
of  the  flame  ?"  said  his  mothep. 

"  Yes,  mamma,  I  see  the  smoke ;  but  what  has  that 
to  do  with  what  I  asked  you  V 

•*  Do  not  you  know  what  that  smoke  is  1^-Do  not  you 
remember  your  father's  showing  you,  one  evening  after 
tea,  the  differenfce  between  smoke  and  steam  V 

"  I  remember,  mamma,  steam  comes  from  water 
when  it  is  made  hot ;  I  remember  papa  showed  me  the 
steam,  the  vapour,  rising  from  the  hot  water  in  the  tea- 
urn  ;  and  I  recollect  papa  held  a  cold  plate  over  it,  and 
showed  me  that  the  cold  turned  the  vapour  back  again 
into  water ;  I  saw  the  drops  of  water  condensed — 1  re- 
member the  word.  And  I  recollect  he  afterward  held  a 
plate  over  the  candle,  and  said  that  what  rose  from  the 
candle  was  smoke,  not  steam — I  do  not  remember  about 
the  smoke — I  recollect  only  that  the  plate  was  black- 
ened which  was  held  over  the  candle,  and  that  the  plate 
was  not  wet ;  but  I  do  not  know  exactly  how  it  was." 

"  Did  you  never  hear  any  thing  more  about  smoke  !" 
said  his  mother. 

"  O  yes !  I  recollect  papa  told  me  that  smoke,  when 
cold,  became  soot,  and  fell  down  to  the  ground,  or  stuck 
to  any  cold  thing  that  was  near  it." 

"  Just  so  the  smoke  of  the  candle  is  the  vapour  of 
melted  tallow,  which  boils  by  the  heat  of  the  candle  ; 
and  when  this  vapour  is  condensed  by  cold  it  becomes 
soot,  such  as  you  see  sticking  to  the  ceilings  where 
many  candles  are  used :  soot  is  frequently  collected  on 
purpose,  upon  plates  held  over  lamps,  and  is  then  called 
lampblack." 

"  Mamma,  once  I  saw  in  the  little,  little  barrel,  at  the 
time  the  painter  was  going  to  paint  the  black  board  at  the 
bottom  of  your  room,  some  light  black  powder.  Was 
that  lampblack  1" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  that  was  lampblack ;  and  it  is  used 
for  paint,  and  for  making  blacking  for  shoes  and  boots." 

"  Very  well,  mamma,  I  understand  that ;  but  I  want 

to  go  back  to  the  candle — the  melted  tallow,  the  vapour 

of  boiUng  tallow,  makes  the  candle  bum,  and  keeps  the 

iandle  burning.     Mamma,  I  do  not  know  how  and  why 

he  candle  burns — and  what  is  the  flame  V 

"  Frank,  till  you  have  more  knowledge,  I  will  not  at- 


126  FRANK. 

tempt  to  explain  that  to  you,"  said  his  mother.  "  But, 
whenever  you  can  understand  it,  you  shall  read  all  that 
is  known  about  the  burning  of  a  candle.  You  will  find 
it  in  that  book  which  your  brother  Edward  was  reading 
yesterday — '  Conversations  on  Chymistry.'  " 

"  Ay,  that  book  which  he  likes  so  much !  But,  mam- 
ma, I  do  not  like  it.  Edward  said  to  me, '  Don't  inter- 
rupt me,  Frank — 1  am  busy — I  am  very  happy  reading 
this.'  Mamma,  I  got  up  behind  the  chair,  and  began  try- 
ing to  read  over  his  shoulder ;  but  I  did  not  like  the 
book  much." 

"  No,  because  you  did  not  understand  it  at  all." 

"  And  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  understand  it,"  said 
Frank. 

"  Do  you  not  understand  parts  of  books  now,  Frank, 
which  you  did  not  understand  when  you  began  to  learn 
to  read  V 

"  Yes,  parts  of  '  Evenings  at  Home,'  and  parts  of 
♦  Sandford  and  Merton,'  which  I  did  not  understand  and 
did  not  hke  last  year ;  and  now  I  like  them  verj'  much." 
*<  "  Then  you  may  hope  that  the  time  will  come,  if  you 
try  to  improve  yourself,  when  you  will  understand  and 
like  '  Conversations  on  Chymistry,'  as  your  brother  now 
does.  Even  what  you  have  seen  and  learned  this  even- 
ing will  help  you  a  little." 

Just  then  Frank  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  he  saw 
the  little  girl  who  had  been  sent  for  the  strawberries 
coming  along  the  path  which  led  to  the  house.  She 
brought  a  basket  of  fine  strawberries.  The  old  woman 
set  a  little  deal  table  in  the  porch,  where  the  honey- 
suckles, which  hung  over  the  roof  of  the  porch,  smelt 
very  sweet.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  it  was  cheerful 
and  pleasant. 

"  Look,  master  Frank !  I  have  strawberries  for  you 
and  for  myself  too  !"  said  Mrs.  Wheeler.  "  My  George 
takes  care  of  my  garden,  and  I  have  plenty  of  fruit  and 
flowers — these  honeysuckles,  that  smell  so  sweet,  are 
all  his  planting." 

Frank's  father  returned  from  the  oat-field  where  he 
had  been ;  and  Frank  and  his  father  and  mother  sat  in 
the  porch  covered  with  honeysuckles,  and  eat  straw- 
berries and  cream. 


After  Frank  had  eaten  as  many  strawberries_as  he 


fRANK.  127 

liked,  he  and  his  father  and  mother  thanked  the  good- 
natured  old  woman,  and  his  mother  put  into  the  httle 
girl's  hand  some  money.  The  girl  courtesied,  and  smi- 
led, and  looked  happy. 

Then  Frank  followed  his  father  and  mother  out  of  the 
cottage,  and  his  father  said  that  they  would  walk  home 
by  a  new  way,  through  the  oat-field,  and  afterward 
through  a  neat  farmyard,  and  round  by  a  pretty  lane, 
which  would  take  them  to  the  bridge.  Frank  did  not 
hear  what  his  father  said ;  and  his  father,  turning  his 
head  back,  saw  Frank  walking  slowly  behind  him,  and 
looking  as  if  he  was  thinking  intently  of  something. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Frank  V  said  his  father 
,  .  "  I  am  thinking,  papa,  about  money." 
>i{T*'  What  about  money,  Frank  1" 
:  <  "  I  am  thinking  how  happy  that  little  girl  looked  when 
mamma  gave  her  some  money,  and  how  glad  people 
always  look  when  money  is  given  to  them.     The  rea- 
son, I  know,  is,  because   they  can  buy  things  with 
money — bread  and  meat,  or  clothes,  or  balls  and  tops, 
and  playthings,  or  houses,  chaises,  or  any  thing  they 
wish  for.     But,  papa,  I  wonder  that  the  people  who 
have  bread  and  meat,  or  clothes,  and  tops,  and  balls, 
and  all  sorts  of  pretty  or  useful  things,  are  so  foolish  as 
to  give  them  for  little  bits  of  gold,  or  silver,  or  copper, 
which  are  of  no  use." 

"No  use  !  My  dear,  recoUect  that  you  have  just  said 
that  they  are  of  use  to  buy  any  thing  people  want  or 
wish  for.  Suppose  you  had  two  tops,  and  that  you 
wanted  to  have  a  ball  instead  of  one  of  your  tops,  you 
might  sell  one  of  your  tops,  and  with  the  money  that 
would  be  paid  to  you  for  your  top,  you  might  buy  a 
ball." 

"  But,  papa,  why  could  not  I  change  one  of  my  tops ' 
for  a  ball,  without  buying  or  selling,  or  having  any  thing 
to  do  with  money  V 

I  *'  Your  top  is  worth  more  than  a  ball ;  however,  you 
might,  if  you  liked  it,  exchange  your  top  for  a  ball ;  but 
it  is  not  so  easy  to  make  exchanges  of  heavy  and  large 
things  as  of  hght  and  small  things — you  cannot  carry 
large  or  heavy  things,  for  instance,  coals,  or  cows,  about 
with  you,  to  exchange ;  and  yet  one  man  may  have  more 
coals  and  another  more  cows  than  he  wants ;  and,  if 
they  wish  to  exchange  these,  then  it  is  convenient  to 
give  money,  which  can  be  readily  carried  in  the  pocket." 


128  FRANK. 

Frank  did  not  quite  understand  what  his  father  meant ; 
his  father  said  that  it  was  too  difficult  for  him  to  com- 
prehend, and  that  he  should  only  puzzle  him  if  he  talk- 
ed to  him  any  more  about  it  yet. 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  looking  a  little  mortified,  "  I  am 
sorry  that  there  are  so  many  things  that  I  cannot  under- 
stand yet — what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Attend  to  those  things  which  you  can  understand, 
my  dear  boy ;  and  then  you  will  learn  more  and  more 
every  day  and  every  hour.  Here  are  men  reaping  oats 
— look  at  the  sickle  with  which  they  are  cutting  down 
the  oats — did  you  ever  see  a  sickle  before  ]" 

"  Yes." 

Frank  remembered  having  seen  sickles  last  autumn, 
when  his  mother  took  him  to  see  some  men  reaping 
corn;  and  he  said  he  recollected  that  the  bundles  of 
corn  which  the  men  bound  together,  and  set  upright  on 
their  stalks,  were  called  sheaves,  and  that  the  top  of 
each  separate  stalk  of  corn  is  called  the  ear. 

His  father  bid  him  run  and  gather  an  ear  of  barley, 
which  was  growing  in  the  next  field  on  the  left  hand, 
and  also  an  ear  of  wheat,  which  was  growing  in  a  field 
on  the  right  hand  ;  and  when  Frank  had  gathered  these, 
his  father  showed  him  the  difference  between  oats, 
barley,  and  wheat.  Frank  knew  that  wheat  is  made 
into  bread,  and  that  barley  and  oats  are  sometimes  made 
into  bread,  and  that  oats  are  eaten  by  horses.  But  there 
is  another  use  of  barley,  which  he  did  not  know.       :;iJ 

"  Did  you  ever  taste  beer,  Frank  V  «r 

"  Yes,  papa."  .  ti 

"  Do  you  know  of  what  beer  is  made  V  /<i 

"  I  think  my  brother  Edward  told  me  that  it  was  made 
of  malt  and  hops  ;  and  he  once,  when  the  brewer  was 
brewing,  showed  me  some  hops :  he  said  that  hops  give 
the  bitter  taste  to  beer.  But,  papa,  I  do  not  know  what 
malt  is." 

"  Malt  is  com  that  has  been  made  to  begin  to  grow 
again,  and  that  is  not  suffered  to  grow  a  long  time.  Com, 
you  know,  is  a  name  for  many  kinds  of  grain;  as  wheat, 
barley,  bear,  oats,  and  rye." 

"  How  do  they  make  it  grow  a  little  V  said  Frank. 

'     "  By  wetting  the  grain  and  heaping  it  up,  which  makes 

it  hot ;  then  it  swells,  and  the  grain  becomes  soft ;  and, 

if  it  is  opened,  it  is  found  to.contaia  a  kind  of  flour.    I 


PRANK.  '129 

think  I  onc6  gave  you  some  malt  to  taste.    Do  you  re- 
member the  taste  of  it,  Frank  ?"  i  ?'  ;»'  ;;   — n  r 

"  Yes,  papa,  it  has  a  sort  of  sweet  taste.**""  ■  1      .t 

"  Well ;  when  the  malt  has  swelled  and  is  ready  to 
burst,  they  stop  its  growth  by  taking  it  out  of  the  heap 
and  spreading  it  upon  the  ground,  and  at  last  by  putting 
it  into  a  place  that  dries  the  com,  and  prevents  it  from 
growing  any  more." 

"  Papa,  you  showed  me  such  a  place  at  Mr.  Craw- 
ford's, the  matlster's,  and  he  called  it  a  kiln.  And  what 
do  they  do  next  to  the  malf?" 

"  They  then  brew  it,  and  make  beer  of  it." 
.'r**  I  know  that.     But  how  do  they  brew  it,  papa  V 
• '  *'  I  cannot  explain  that  to  you  now,  my  dear ;  but  the 
next  time  the  brewer  comes  I  will  take  you  into  the 
brewhouse,  and  you  may  then  see  part  of  what  is  done 
to  make  beer  of  malt." 


btit.  .  '/'iih.:  ■.    ;.  ; 

WmLE  Frank's  father  had  been  talking  about  malt  and 
beer,  they  had  walked  through  two  or  three  fields,  and 
they  came  to  a  neat  farmhouse.  The  man  to  whom 
the  house  belonged  came  out  and  said— 

"  How  do  you  do,  landlord  T  Madam,  you  are  wel- 
come. Will  you  walk  into  my  yard,  sir,  and  look  at 
my  new  bam,  which  I  am  just  now  thatching  1" 

"  Pray,  papa,  take  me  with  you,"  said  Frank ;  "  for  I 
want  very  much  to  know  how  to  thatch  the  old  gar- 
den-house better." 

His  father  took  him  to  the  yard.  When  they  came 
there,  Frank  saw  lying  on  the  ground,  on  one  side  of  the 
yard,  a  great  heap  of  straw,  and  on  the  other  side  he 
saw  a  bundle  of  hay,  of  which  horses  were  eating.  As 
he  was  passing  between  the  heap  of  straw  and  the  bun- 
dle of  hay,  Frank  heard  his  mother  tell  his  father  that 
she  once  knew  a  young  lady,  who  had  lived  till  she  was 
fourteen  years  old  in  the  coimtry,  and  yet  who  did  not, 
at  that  age,  know  the  difference  between  straw  and  hay. 

Frank  laughed,  and  said,  "  What  a  very  ignorant 
young  lady  that  must  be,  mamma !  Mamma,  I  know 
the  difference  between  straw  and  hay  perfectly :  this  on 
my  right  hand  is  straw,  and  this  on  my  left  hand  is  hay. 
Cows  and  horses  eat  hay,  but  they  do  not  eat  straw ; 
beds  are  sometimes  made  of  straw;  and  hats,  and  a 
F3 


130  FRANK 

great  many  things,  are  made  of  straw ;  and  houses  are 
thatched  with  straw,  and  not  with  hay.  You  see,  mam- 
ma, 1  know  a  great  deal  more  than  that  young  lady, 
though  she  was  fourteen.     How  very  old  !" 

"  But  all  this  time  you  have  not  told  me,  Frank,  what 
hay  is,  and  what  straw  is." 

"  Hay  is  grass  dried ;  and  straw  is  the  stalks  of  wheat. 
You  know,  mamma,  last  autumn,  I  saw  the  men  thrash- 
ing. I  saw  the  corn  that  was  thrashed  out  of  the  ears ; 
and  what  was  left,  after  the  corn  was  beat  out,  you  told 
me  was  called  chaff;  and  the  stalks,  mamma,  you  told 
me  were  to  be  called  straw." 

"  Well  remembered,  Frank,"  said  his  father.  "  Perhaps, 
if  the  poor  ignorant  young  lady  of  fourteen  had  at  your 
age  had  as  kind  a  mother  as  you  have,  and  had  been  told 
and  shown  all  these  things,  she  might  have  remembered 
them  as  you  do.  But,  Frank,  the  stalks  of  wheat  are 
not  the  only  stalks  that  are  called  straw.  The  stalks 
of  wheat  are  called  wheat  straw;  but  there  are  other 
kinds  of  straw.  The  stalks  of  oats,  and  of  barley,  and 
of  rye,  are  all  called  straw." 

"  Which  kind  of  straw  is  the  best  for  thatching 
houses,  papa  V 

"  Wheat  straw,  I  believe,"  said  his  father. 

By  this  time  they  had  come  to  the  bam  which  the 
man  was  thatching.  Frank  looked  up  attentively  a  little 
while,  and  then  said — 

"  The  man  is  so  far  above  me,  papa,  that  I  cannot 
well  see  how  he  fastens  on  the  straw.  May  I  go  up 
this  ladder,  papa !" 

Frank  pointed  to  a  ladder  which  stood  beside  that  on 
which  the  thatcher  was  at  work.  Frank's  father  made 
him  no  answer  till  he  had  examined  if  the  ladder  was 
firmly  fixed,  and  then  he  told  Frank  that  he  might  go 
up. 

"  I  will  follow  you,  Frank,"  added  he,  "  to  take  care 
of  you  when  you  get  to  the  top." 

"  No,  papa,  thank  you,  you  need  not :  for  I  am  not  at 
all  afraid,  because  I  know  so  well  how  to  go  up  and 
down  a  ladder." 

Frank  ran  to  the  ladder,  and  a  maidservant,  who  was 
milking  a  cow  in  the  yard,  cried  out — 

"Master!  master!  dear  young  master!  What  are 
you  about  ?  Don't  go  up  the  ladder,  or  you'll  break 
your  pretty  little  legs," 


FRANK.  131 

''  Frank  laughed,  and  began  to  go  up  the  ladder  direct- 
ly*  He  had  been  accustomed  to  go  up  and  down  a  step- 
ladder  which  his  father  had  in  his  library.  Formerly, 
when  he  was  a  very  little  boy,  he  had  not  been  allowed 
to  go  up  that  ladder :  and  he  never  had  gone  up  it  till 
his  father  gave  him  leave.  And  now  he  was  proud  of 
being  permitted  to  mount  a  ladder.  So  he  went  up ; 
and  when  he  was  half  way  up,  he  turned  back  his  head 
to  look  at  the  maid,  who  had  hid  her  face  with  her 
hands.     Frank  laughed  more  and  more  at  her  fright. 

"  Take  care,  Frank :  mind  what  you  are  about ;  hold 
fast  by  the  sides  of  the  ladder.  You  are  in  much  more 
danger  now  than  you  were  in  crossing  the  plank  over 
the  brook ;  for,  if  you  miss  a  rung  (a  step)  of  the  ladder, 
you  will  fall  and  hurt  yourself  very  much.  There  is  no 
courage  in  being  careless." 

Frank  knew  that  his  father  told  him  the  truth  about 
danger,  as  well  as  about  every  thing  else,  and  he  always 
attended  to  what  his  father  advised :  therefore  he  left 
off  laughing,  and  he  took  care  to  hold  fast,  and  not  to 
miss  any  rung  of  the  ladder.  He  found  that  this  ladder 
was  much  higher  than  that  which  he  had  been  used  to 
go  up ;  his  father  was  behind  him  :  he  reached  the  top- 
most rung  safely,  and  his  father  put  one  of  his  arms 
round  Frank,  and  held  him,  for  his  head  grew  a  little 
giddy ;  he  had  not  been  used  to  look  down  from  such  a 
height.  In  a  few  minutes,  when  his  attention  was  fixed 
on  what  the  thatcher  was  doing,  he  forgot  the  disagreea- 
ble feeling ;  and  he  was  entertained  by  seeing  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  house  was  thatched. 

"  Papa,  I  see  that  he  puts  on  the  straw  quite  differ- 
ently from  what  I  did  when  I  was  trying  to  thatch  the 
house  in  my  garden." 

"  Why,  how  did  you  put  on  the  straw  1" 

"  I  put  it  in  bundles  upon  sticks  that  made  the  roof." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  bundles  V 

"  I  took  as  much  as  I  could  grasp  or  hold  in  my  hand, 
and  I  put  it  on  the  wooden  roof,  not  quite  Uke  steps,  but 
one  above  another." 

"  And  you  found  that  the  rain  came  in  between  every 
bundle,  did  not  you  ?" 

"  I  did  indeed — and  I  was  very  sorry ;  after  all  ray 
pains,  after  I  had  thatched  my  house,  the  water  came 
in  the  first  time  there  was  a  hard  shower  of  rain." 

"Yes,  because  you  put  the  bundles  of  straw  the 


132  FRANK. 

wrong  way.  You  see  the  thatcher  does  not  lay  hand* 
fuls  of  straw  in  steps,  one  above  the  other,  as  you  did ; 
but  he  begins  at  the  eaves  of  the  roof  near  the  wall,  just 
at  one  end  of  the  house,  and  he  lays  several  bundles  one 
beside  the  other." 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Frank.  "  I  put  them  one 
above  the  other,  Uke  the  steps  of  the  ladder;  he  puts 
them  beside  each  other,  like  the  sides  of  the  ladder.'' 

"  He  fastens  them  down  with  bent  twigs,  which  he 
calls  scollops"  said  Frank's  father.  "  Or  else,  look,  here 
is  another  way — he  fastens  the  straw  down  with  a  rope 
made  of  straw,  with  which  he  actually  sews  the  thatch 
down  to  the  roof  with  his  long  iron  rod,  which  you  see 
he  uses  like  a  needle." 

"  But,  papa,  you  said  that  he  begins  at  the  eaves  of  the 
house — what  is  the  eaves  ?" 

"  The  eaves  are  that  part  of  a  roof  that  is  nearest  the 
wall.  They  are  the  lowest  part  of  the  roof,  and  the 
thatch  hangs  over  the  wall,  to  carry  off  the  rain  without 
its  touching  the  wall.  Here  is  a  scollop.  You  see  it  is 
sharpened  at  both  ends,  that  it  may  stick  in  the  roof. 
Observe  the  thatcher.  He  is  going  to  put  on  the  sec- 
ond row  of  thatch  above  the  first.'' 

"  Yes ;  I  see  that  the  lower  part  of  the  bundle  that 
he  is  now  putting  on,  is  put  over  the  upper  part  of  the 
bundles  below  it." 

"  Why  does  he  do  so  1" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

*'  Think  a  httle,  Frank." 

"  I  do  think,  papa — but  I  cannot  find  it  out.'* 

"  The  rain  would  fall  between  the  bottom  of  the  row 
which  he  is  now  putting  on  and  the  first  row,  if  the  bot- 
tom of  the  second  did  not  lap  over  the  top  of  the  first : 
and  the  rain  would  run  in  at  the  holes  made  by  the 
scollops  if  they  were  not  covered  by  the  second  row  of 
thatch." 


When  Frank  had  seen  and  heard  all  that  his  father 
showed  and  told  him  about  thatching,  he  went  down  the 
ladder  as  carefuUy  as  he  had  gone  up  it.  As  he  passed 
through  the  farmyard  with  his  father  and  mother,  he 
stopped  to  look  at  some  pretty  hens  and  chickens  that 
were  picking  up  oats.  While  Frank  was  looking  at 
them,  a  large  turkey  cock  came  strutting  up  to  him, 


JRANK.  133 

making  a  great  noise,  spreading  its  black  wings,  stretch- 
ing out  its  blue  and  red  throat,  and  looking  ready  to  fly 
at  him.  Frank  started  back,  and  had  a  great  wish  to 
run  away ;  but  his  father,  putting  a  stick  into  his  hand, 
said — 

"  Frank,  stand  steady,  my  boy ;  drive  him  away  with 
this  stick.     That's  right ;  drive  him  away." 

The  turkeycock  began  to  run  away,  turning  back 
from  time  to  time,  and  making  a  terrible  noise;  but 
Frank  pursued  him,  threatening  him  with  the  stick ;  and 
as  fast  as  Frank  came  up  to  Mm,  the  turkeycock  gob- 
bled and  ran  away. 

"  Well  done,  Frank ;  you  have  fairly  driven  him 
away,"  said  his  father,  shaking  hands  with  him.  "  You 
see  you  can  conquer  him,  and  that  he  has  not  hurt  you ; 
now,  the  next  time  a  turkeycock  attacks  you,  if  you 
have  a  stick  in  your  hand,  you  heed  not  to  be  afraid." 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  are  become  so  much  stouter  than  you  were.  When 
you  were  a  very  little  boy,  and  not  near  so  strong  as 
you  are  now,  I  remember  we  had  a  turkeycock  in  the 
yard  which  one  day  frightened  you;  and  your  father 
ordered  that  it  should  be  sent  away,  that  it  might  not 
frighten  you  again,  for  you  were  not  then  able  to  defend 
yourself." 

"  But  I  am  now  older,  and  am  able  to  defend  myself," 
cried  Frank  ;  "  and  wiUing,  too,  mamma." 

Frank  marched  on  in  triumph  before  his  mother, 
and  passed  by  the  door  of  the  chicken-yard,  looking 
proudly  at  the  turkeycock,  which  dared  not  come  out. 
Frank  amused  himself,  during  a  great  part  of  the  way 
home,  in  imitating  the  strut  and  noise  of  that  animal ; 
and  he  frequently  turned  to  his  mother,  asking  her  if 
ihis  was  not  very  like ;  and  this  still  more  like :  and 
begging  her  to  shut  her  eyes  and  listen,  and  tell  whether 
she  could  know  his  gobble  from  that  of  the  real  turkey- 
cock. 

Frank  was  tired  at  last  of  doing  this,  and  his  mother 
was  tired  of  listening  to  him. 

"  Now,  mamma,  I  have  done  being  a  turkeycock." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,  I  am  glad  of  it.  Let  this  wo- 
man, who  seems  to  be  in  a  hurry,  pass  by  you,  Frank," 
said  his  mother. 

Frank  looked  behind  him,  and  he  saw  a  woman  with 
a  milkpail  on  her  head,  and  another  under  her  arm. 
12 


134  FRANK. 

He  made  way  for  her,  and  when  she  had  passed  he 
said — 

"  Mamma,  that  is  the  very  same  woman  who  was 
milking  the  cow  in  the  farmyard,  and  who  said  to  me, 
'  Master !  master !  don't  go  up  the  ladder,  or  you  will 
fall  and  break  your  pretty  little  legs.'  Mamma,  was  not 
she  foolish  to  be  so  much  frightened  ?  I  wonder  how 
anybody  can  be  afraid  to  go  up  a  ladder.  What  a  cow- 
ard she  must  be,  poor  woman !" 

As  Frank  was  saying  this,  they  came  to  the  narrow 
bridge ;  and,  to  Frank's  surprise,  he  saw  this  woman 
run,  without  any  appearance  of  fear,  across  the  plank. 

"  With  one  pail  on  her  head,  and  the  other  pail  under 
her  arm,  too  !"  cried  Frank,  stopping  short  and  looking 
at  her  with  astonishment. 

"  Mamma,  can  that  be  the  same  woman  ]  Then  she 
cannot  be  a  coward !  Not  a  coward  about  going  over 
narrow  bridges,  but  sh?  is  a  coward  about  going  up  a 
ladder,  mamma." 

"  She  is  accustomed  to  go  over  this  bridge,  and  she 
finds  that  she  can  do  so  without  being  hurt ;  and  you, 
Frank,  have  been  accustomed  to  go  up  a  ladder  without 
being  hurt." 

"  Yes,  the  ladder  in  papa's  study  I  go  up  and  down 
very  often  every  day.  The  first  time  I  went  up  it  I 
was  a  little  afraid ;  and  I  remember  clinging  fast,  and 
going  verj'  slowly.  I  see,  mamma,  that  people  learn 
not  to  be  afraid  of  what  they  are  accustomed  to ;  and  I 
believe  people  can  teach  themselves  not  to  be  afraid." 

As  Frank  finished  speaking,  he  walked  boldly  over 
that  bridge  on  which,  but  a  short  time  before,  he  had 
scarcely  dared  to  put  his  foot — that  bridge  which  he 
had  thought  it  impossible  to  cross. 


Frank's  father  was  very  careful  always  to  keep  his 
promises.  He  remembered  that  he  had  promised  Frank 
that  whenever  the  brewer  came,  he  would  let  Frank  see 
how  beer  was  brewed.  The  brewer  was  now  going 
to  brew,  and  Frank's  father  called  Frank,,  and  took  him 
into  the  brewhouse. 

"  What  a  very  large  vessel  that  is,  papa  I"  said  Frank, 
pointing  to  a  vessel  which  he  saw  in  the  brewhouse. 

"  It  is  large  compared  with  that  which  you  have  seen 


rRANK,  135 

the  cook  use  for  boiling  meat ;  but  it  is  small  compared 
with  the  brewing-pan,  or  boiler,  used  in  a  public  brew- 
ery, where  a  great  quantity  of  beer  is  brewed  for  num- 
bers of  people.  We  brew  only  the  quantity  that  we 
want  to  drink  ourselves." 

"  What  is  in  the  boiler,  papa  ]" 

"  Water.  Look  at  this  large  wooden  vessel ;  this 
is  called  a  vat.  Into  this  the  malt  is  put,  and  the  water 
that  is  boiled  in  the  boiler  is  poured  into  the  vat,  and 
mixed  with  the  malt;  and  after  some  other  manage- 
ment, it  becomes  a  liquid  called  wort.  This  is  all  you 
can  see  to-day." 

•■.  The  next  day  his  father  called  Frank  again,  and  took 
ihim  into  the  brewhouse,  and  showed  him  the  wort,  and 
bid  him  taste  it :  he  tasted  it,  and  found  it  sweet ;  but  it 
had  not  the  taste  of  beer,  though  it  had  something  of 
the  colour  of  muddy  beer.  His  father  told  him  that 
hops  must  be  mixed  with  the  wort  before  it  could  taste 
like  beer.  He  showed  Frank  the  hops,  and  Frank 
tasted  them,  and  found  that  they  had  a  bitter  taste. 

"  And  is  this  all  that  is  done  to  make  beer,  papa  V 

"■  Not  all — the  wort,  after  the  hops  have  been  boiled 
in  it,  must  be  set  to  wwk,  or  ferment ;  and  after  it  has 
fermented  for  some  time,  it  becomes  beer." 

"  What  is  to  ferment  T"  said  Frank. 

"  I  cannot  explain  it  to  you,"  answered  his  father. 
"  But  you  shall  see  this  wort  when  it  is  fermenting." 

Then  Frank's  father  desired  the  brewer  would  send 
and  let  him  know  as  soon  as  the  beer  should  begin  to 
ferment.  The  brewer  did  so  some  time  afterward,  and 
Frank  went  to  look  at  it.  It  was  not  now  in  the  brew- 
house. 

"  You  see,  Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  that  the  liquor 
in  these  vessels  is  not  like  what  you  saw  in  the  brew- 
house.  It  is,  however,  the  same  liquoi ;  but  it  is  now 
in  a  state  of  fermentation." 

"  It  looks,  indeed,  quite  different,"  said  Frank ;  "  that 
liquor  was  of  a  dull  brown  colour,  and  quite  smooth  on 
the  surface  ;  this  is  all  frothy,  and  a  muddy  yellow  and 
white  colour.  It  is  full  of  bubbles ;  some  rising  from 
below  the  surface,  and  others  bursting." 

"That  froth  is  called  yest,  or  barm,  and  it  is  by 
means  of  this  yest  or  barm  that  bread  is  made  spongy 
and  light.  Bread  made  without  barm  is  heavy,  like  un- 
baked paste." 


136  PRANK. 

"  Papa,  how  is  the  beer  made  to  work,  or  ferment,  as 
it  is  called  ?" 

"  Some  yest,  that  was  got  from  other  beer  that  was 
fermenting,  was  put  into  this  beer ;  and  that  set  it  a 
working,  as  it  is  called." 

"  How  does  it  set  it  a  working,  papal" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  his  father. 

"  How  did  they  get  yest  for  the  first  beer  that  wais 
made  to  ferment  1" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  his  father.  lzvuU 

"Why,  papa,  I  thought  you  knew  every  thing.'?! i^arri 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  1  know  very  little :  and  I  nerer 
pretend  to  know  more  than  I  do.  The  older  people 
grow,  and  the  wiser  they  become,  the  more  they  feel 
that  they  are  ignorant  of  a  number  of  things.  Then 
they  become  the  more  desirous  to  learn ;  and  the  more 
they  learn,  the  more  pleasure  they  feel  in  acquiring  fresh 
knowledge." 


After  he  had  seen  and  heard  all  that  his  father  could 
show  or  tell  him  about  the  fermentation  of  beer,  Frank 
went  to  read  to  his  mother,  as  he  usually  did  at  this 
hour  every  morning. 

"  You  have  just  been  seeing  how  beer  is  made,  Frank," 
said  she ;  "  now,  should  you  like  to  know  how  cider  is 
made  ?" 

"  Very  much,  mamma." 

"  Here  is  a  book  in  which  you  can  find  an  account  of 
it." 

She  put  into  his  hand  the  first  volume  of  Sandford 
and  Merton,  open  at  the  place  which  gives  an  account 
of  Harry  and  Tommy's  visit  to  the  farmhouse,  where 
they  saw  a  room  full  of  apples,  and  where  the  farmer's 
wife  described  the  manner  in  which  she  made  cider  of 
apple-juice. 

Frank  read  all  this  to  his  mother,  and  it  entertained 
him  so  much  that,  when  he  had  finished  it,  he  asked  his 
mother  to  let  him  read  some  more  of  that  book. 

His  mother  said  that  she  was  afraid  he  was  not  yet 
able  to  understand  aU  of  it ;  and  that  she  advised  him 
to  keep  the  pleasure  of  reading  it  till  he  should  be  able 
quite  to  understand  it. 

"  0  mamma !  here  is  a  story  of  two  dogs,  Jowler  and 


FRANK.  137 

Keeper — mamma !  just  let  me  look  at  that,  and  a  story 
of  the  good-natured  boy  and  the  ill-natured  hoy — I  am  sure 
I  can  understand  that,  mamma;  and  the  story  of  the 
gentleman  and  the  basket-maker,  and  Androcles  and  the 
lion :  I  will  begin  at  the  beginning,  mamma,  if  you 
please  ;  and,  if  I  find  that  I  do  not  understand  it,  1  will 
put  it  up  again  in  your  bookcase,  and  keep  the  pleasure, 
as  you  say,  till  I  am  able  quite  to  understand  it." 

Upon  this  condition  Frank's  mother  gave  him  leave 
to  read  Sandford  and  Merton.  He  sat  down  immediately 
on  the  carpet,  and  he  read  eagerly  for  some  time,  till  he 
came  to  a  long  dialogue,  and  then  he  yawned — ^his 
mother  sent  him  out  to  work  in  his  garden.  She  would 
not  allow  him  to  read  much  at  a  time,  because  she 
wished  to  prevent  him  from  being  tired  of  reading.  He 
had  the  pleasure  of  reading  a  little  of  Sandford  and 
Me'rton  every  day.  He  found  that  he  understood  a  great 
deal  of  it ;  and  his  mother  told  him  he  might  pass  some 
parts :  "  You  will  read  that  book  over  again,  I  am  sure, 
some  time  hence ;  and  then  you  will  be  able  to  under- 
stand it  all,  and  then  you  may  read  the  parts  which  you 
now  miss." 

Frank  was  particularly  delighted  with  the  accovmt  of 
the  house  which  Harry  and  Tommy  built.  And  as  soon 
as  Frank  got  over  the  difficulty  of  the  hard  name  Spitz- 
bergen,  he  liked  the  account  of  "  the  extraordinary  ad- 
ventures of  the  four  Russian  sailors,  who  were  cast 
away  on  the  desert  island  of  East  SjJitzbergen." 

"  Mamma,  I  Hke  this,  because  it  is  true,"  said  Frank 
— "  mamma,  I  like  books  that  tell  me  true  things,  and 
that  teach  me  something." 


One  morning,  when  Frank  was  going  to  put  on  his 
shoes,  he  found  that  there  was  a  hole  in  the  side  of  one 
of  them ;  so  he  put  on  another  pair ;  and  he  ran  with  the 
shoe  that  had  the  hole  in  it  to  his  mother,  and  asked 
her  to  have  it  mended  for  him.  She  said  that  she 
would  send  it  to  the  shoemaker's. 

"  Mamma,"  continued  Frank,  "  I  should  like  to  go  to 
the  shoemaker's ;  I  should  like  to  see  how  he  mends 
my  shoe,  and  how  he  makes  new  shoes.  I  understand 
something  about  it,  from  having  seen  that  print  of  the 
shoemaker  in  the  Book  of  Trades,  and  from  having 


13S  PRANK. 

read  the  description ;  but  I  think  1  should  understand 
it  much  better  if  I  were  to  see  a  real  shoemaker  at 
work." 

"  I  think  you  would,  my  dear ;  and  when  I  have  leis- 
ure I  will  take  you  to  see  a  shoemaker  at  work." 

"  Thank  you,  good  mamma ! — And  I  should  like  to  see 
every  thing  done  that  is  shown  in  the  prints  of  that 
book,"  continued  Frank.  He  ran  for  the  book,  and, 
turning  over  the  leaves,  "  I  should  like,  mamma,  to  see 
the  trunkmaker,  the  wheelwright,  the  turner,  the  rope- 
maker,  the  papermaker,  the  bookbinder,  the  brasier,  the 
buttonmaker,  the  saddler,  the  glassblower,  and — oh, 
mamma  ! — the  printer,  and — " 

"  Stop,  stop,  my  dear  Frank ! — I  cannot  show  you  all 
these  ;  but,  if  you  are  not  troublesome,  I  will  show  you 
any  which  you  can  understand,  whenever  I  have  an  op- 

Eortunity,  and  when  I  have  time.  You  know  that  I 
ave  a  great  many  things  to  do,  and  cannot  always 
attend  to  you,  my  little  Frank." 

"  I  know  that,  mamma — but  you  have  time,  have  not 
you,  to  take  me  to  the  shoemaker's  to-day  V 

"  Not  to-day,  my  dear." 

"  But,  mamma,  will  you  tell  me  how  paper  is  made  V 

"  Not  now,  my  dear." 

'*  Well,  mamma,  I  will  tell  you  how  I  intend  to  man- 
age about  my  arbour." 

"  Not  at  present,  my  dear.  Do  not  talk  to  me  any 
more  now — I  am  going  to  write  a  letter." 

Frank  went  away,  and  employed  himself,  that  he 
might  not  be  troublesome,  and  that  he  might  make  him- 
self happy. 

The  next  day  his  mother  took  him  to  the  shoemaker's : 
he  saw  him  at  work — he  saw  the  awl  with  which  the 
shoemaker  makes  holes  in  the  sole  of  the  shoe  and  in 
the  leather,  through  which  holes  he  puts  the  waxed 
thread  with  which  he  sews  them  together — he  saw  that, 
instead  of  using  needles,  the  shoemaker  used  hogs'  bris- 
tles, which  he  fastened  to  the  waxed  thread  with  which 
he  worked  :  so  that  the  bristles  served  him  as  needles. 
He  put  the  two  ends  of  the  thread  in  at  opposite  sides 
of  the  holes,  and  then  drew  the  thread  tight,  by  puUing 
each  end  at  one  and  the  same  time ;  and  in  doing  this 
he  pushed  out  his  elbows,  and  made  an  odd  jerking  mo- 
tion, which  diverted  Frank  very  much. 

**  Now  I  know  the  reason,"  said  Frank,  "  why,  in  the 


FRANK.  139 

song  which  papa  sings  about  the  cobbler,  it  says  that 
he  wanted  elbowroom — 

f.'  *"  There  was  a  cobbler  who  lived  in  the  coomb, 

g.  Ahd  all  that  he  wanted  was  dbowroom.^ " 

*;.  Frank  saw  in  the  shoemaker's  shop  large  pieces  oC 
leather  of  different  colours,  black,  white,  red,  blue,  green, 
and  purple.  He  asked  leave  to  look  at  these ;  and  one 
of  the  men  in  the  shop,  who  was  not  b«sy,  took  out  of  a 
drawer  some  skins,  as  he  called  them,  and  spread  them 
on  the  counter  before  Frank,  who  touched,  and  smelt, 
and  looked  at  them  for  some  minutes,  and  then  said — 

"  I  know  that  leather  is  the  skin  of  animals — of  horses, 
and  dogs,  and  calves,  and  of  some  kind  of  goats,  and 
of — of— I  forget  the  name — seals." 

"  Why,  master!"  said  the  shoemaker,  looking  up  from 
his  work,  "  many  a  little  master  of  your  age  for  whom 
I  make  shoes  does  not  know  so  mach — ^you  are  a  veiy 
clever  little  gentleman." 

Frank  coloured,  and  was  ashamed  ;  for  he  recollected 
the  fiattering  lady,  and  he  thought  the  shoemaker  was 
flattering  and  laughing  at  him.  He  turned  away,  and 
said  to  the  man  who  had  showed  him  the  skins — 

"  Tell  me,  will  you,  how  the  skins  of  horses,  and  dogs, 
and  goats,  are  made  to  look  like  this  leather  which  I  see 
before  me  ?  I  know  pretty  well  how  the  hair  of  the 
horses,  and  dogs,  and  calves,  is  got  off,  because  I  read 
an  account  of  that  in  my  Book  of  Trades.  I  know  the 
currier,  with  a  long  knife  with  two  handles,  scrapes  it 
off— but  I  don't  know,  and  I  wish  you  would  tell  rae, 
how  you  turn  the  skin  into  leather,  and  how  you  give  it 
such  beautiful  colours." 

"  Master,  I  cannot  tell  you  that — it  is  not  our  trade  ; 
that  is  the  business  of  the  tanner  and  the  leather-dres- 
ser. I  buy  the  leather  from  them  just  as  you  see  it. 
Please  to  sit  down,  master,  that  I  may  measure  you  for 
a  pair  of  shoes.** 

Frank,  finding  that  the  shoemaker's  man  could  not 
tell  him  any  thing  about  tanning  or  dying,  contented 
himself  with  observing  the  manner  in  which  this  man 
took  measure  of  his  foot.  Frank  looked  at  the  stick  or 
ruler  which  the  shoemakei  used.  It  was  made  to  fold 
up  and  open,  something  like  a  carpenter's  common 
ruler ;  but  there  was  hinged  at  one  end  of  it  a  bit  of 
brjiss,  about  two  iuches  long;  and  this  was  hinged  so 


140  FRANK. 

that  it  could  be  made  to  stand  up  or  shut  down,  as  yon 
please.  This  piece  of  brass  the  shoemaker  turned  up 
and  put  behind  Frank's  heel  when  he  began  to  measure 
his  foot,  and  he  laid  the  ruler  under  the  sole  of  Frank's 
foot.  There  was  another  piece  of  brass  hinged  in  the 
same  manner,  which  could  be  slid  backwards  and  for- 
wards upon  the  ruler  :  the  shoemaker  pushed  this  up  to 
the  end  of  Frank's  foot,  and  then  looked  at  the  divisions 
which  were  marked  upon  the  ruler ;  and  he  saw  the 
distance  between  the  brass  at  the  heel  and  the  brass  at 
the  toe  ;  and  he  knew  what  size  Frank's  shoe  ought  to 
be  as  to  length.  The  breadth  he  measured  by  spanning 
the  foot ;  that  is,  by  putting  his  fingers  round  it  in  dif- 
ferent places. 

When  the  shoemaker  had  finished  taking  measure,  he 
shut  up  his  measuring-stick.  Frank  asked  leave  to  look 
at  it  once  more,  because  he  had  not  observed  exactly 
how  it  was  fastened  when  shut.  The  shoemaker  put 
it  again  into  his  hands ;  and  he  saw  how  one  part  of  the 
brass  notched  into  the  other,  so  as  to  fasten  both  the 
parts  of  the  ruler  together  when  shut. 

The  shoemaker. then  showed  Frank  some  other  things 
which  he  wished  to  see  in  his  shop.  He  showed  him  a 
bootjack  for  drawing  boots  off;  and  a  wooden  leg,  which 
is  put  into  boots  to  stretch  them  ;  and  he  showed  him 
the  lasts  or  moulds  on  which  shoes  are  made. 

Wherever  Frank  went,  people  were  generally  ready 
to  answer  his  questions,  and  to  show  him  what  he  want- 
ed to  see,  because  he  took  care  not  to  be  troublesome, 
and  he  did  not  ask  foolish  questions.  He  sometimes 
found,  however,  that  people  could  not  spare  time  to 
show  him  things  ;  and  he  often  found  that  he  could  not 
understand  their  manner  of  explaining. 


Some  days  after  Frank  had  been  at  the  shoemaker's, 
as  he  was  walking  out  in  the  evening  with  his  father  and 
mother,  he  heard  a  dog  barking  at  a  distance. 

"  How  far  off,  mamma,  do  you  think  that  dog  is  1" 
said  Frank. 

"  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  I  should  guess.  I  fancy 
it  is  White  the  tanner's  dog." 

"The  tanner  !  Mamma,  I  wish  he  had  not  that  bark- 
ing dog." 


FRANK,  141 

•*  That  barking  dog  is  very  usreAil  to  the  tanner,  and 
he  will  not  do  you  any  harm.  That  dog  is  always 
chained  up  in  the  daytime ;  he  is  let  loose  only  at  night, 
when  he  guards  his  master's  property,  and  prevents  any 
one  from  stealing  the  leather  which  the  tanner  leaves  in 
his  tanpits." 

"  Then,  mamma,  if  the  dog  is  chained  up  and  cannot 
do  me  any  harm,  I  wish  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  take 
me  to  see  the  tanner  and  the  tanpits — you  know  the 
shoemaker  told  me  that  the  tanner  tans  leather.  Mam- 
ma, will  you  go  ?     Papa,  will  you  go  to  the  tanner's  T" 

"  Yes,  Frank,  we  will  go  with  you,"  said  his  father — 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  are  so  desirous  to  acquire 
knowledge." 

They  walked  across  two  or  three  fields  towards  the 
tanner's  house ;  and  when  they  came  near  it,  the  bark- 
ing of  the  dog  was  heard  very  loud.  But  at  the  same 
time  that  Frank  heard  his  loud  barking,  he  also  heard 
the  rattling  of  the  dog's  chain ;  and  he  knew,  therefore, 
that  he  was  chained  up,  and  could  not  do  him  any  mis- 
chief. His  father  told  Frank  to  take  care,  as  he  passed 
by  this  fierce  dog,  not  to  go  within  his  reach — not  to  go 
within  the  length  of  his  chain.  Frank  took  care,  and 
walked  at  a  prudent  distance.  The  tanner  came  out 
and  silenced  his  dog,  and  then  Frank  could  hear  and  at- 
tend to  what  was  said.  ^ 

But,  though  he  attended,  he  did  not  understand  all  that 
the  tanner  said ;  for  the  man  spoke  in  a  tone  different 
from  what  Frank  had  been  accustomed  to  hear- 

"  Here  bees  my  tanpits,  master,  if  that  bees  what  you're 
axing  for*  And  all  that  is,  as  I  knows  about  it,  you  see, 
master,  is  this ;  that  I  puts  the  skins  into  one  of  these 
here  pits,  first-and-foremost,  to  deanse  it  of  the  air, 
like ;  and  then  I  stretches  it  upon  a  kotse^  you  see,  and 
I  scrapes  off  the  hair." 

"  And  does  the  horse  stand  stiH,"  saM  Frank,  "  w'hile 
you  are  doing  that  V 

"  O  bless  you !  master,  it's  a  wooden  horse  I  be  think- 
ing of." 

"  O ! — I  understand* — But  what  is  in  this  pit  1" 

"  First-and-foremost,  I  puts  it  into  this  pit,"  said  the 
tanner. 

"First,  he  puts  it  into  this  pit,"  said  Frank's  father, 
dbsewmg  that  Frank  did  not  kiiow  what  the  laxax  vaezal 


142  FRANK. 

by  first-and-foremost,  which  he  pronounced  very  quickly 
and  like  one  word. 

"  Master,  there  is  what  we  call  lime-water ;  and  then  I 
puts  it  into  stronger  lime-water,  to  soak  again ;  and  then 
I  takes  it  out,  and  hangs  it  to  dry,  and  then  again  soaks 
it ;  and  so  on  till  it  is  fit  for  the  tanjrit  here,"  said  the 
tanner,  pointing  to  a  pit. 

"  And  what  is  in  this  pit  V  said  Frank. 

"  The  bark,  master — nothing  in  hfe,  master,  but  the 
bark  and  water." 

"  The  bark,"  said  Frank ;  "  what  do  you  mean  by  the 
bark  ?" 

"  I  means  the  bark  that  is  ground  and  thrown  into  this 
here  pit  with  water." 

Frank  looked  to  his  father  for  explanation ;  and  his 
father  told  him  that  the  bark  of  which  the  tanner  spoke 
was  the  bark  of  oak  trees. 

"  This  bark,"  continued  his  father,  "  contains  some- 
thing called  tanniny  which,  after  a  length  of  time,  gets 
into  the  pores  or  openings  in  the  leather,  and  makes  it 
hard.  And  after  that,  when  the  leather  is  dry,  it  does 
not  let  water  easily  pass  through  it;  and  then  it  is  use^ 
ful  for  making  shoes,  and  boots,  and  harness,  and  for 
covering  trunks,  and  various  other  purposes." 

"But  what  is  that  something  called  /onnin,  papa  1" 
said  Frank. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  his  father.  "  But  I  know  that 
it  has  a  particular  taste,  which  is  called  astringent ;  and 
that  it  makes  leather  hard,  and  fit  to  keep  out  water. 
Dip  your  finger  into  that  pit  where  you  see  the  bark  and 
water,  and  taste  the  liquor,  and  then  you  will  know 
what  is  meant  by  an  astringent  taste." 

Frank  dipped  his  finger  into  the  tanpit,  and  tasted  the 
bark  and  water  ;  and  he  understood  what  was  meant  by 
an  astringent  taste. 

"  Is  this  all  that  you  can  tell  me,  papa  V 

"  All  that  I  can  tell  you  at  present,  my  dear.  When 
you  are  able  to  understand  it,  you  can  read  more  on  this 
subject  in  Conversations  on  Chymistry."* 

"  But  I  do  not  see  here  any  of  the  red  or  green-col- 
oured, smooth,  shining  leathers  which  I  saw  at  the 
shoemaker's." 

*'  No,  they  are  made  at  a  common  tanner's.     They 

*  Volume  ii.,  page  186,  the  third  editiou. 


PRANK.  143 

ate  coloured,  and  made  smooth  and  shining,  as  you  saw 
them,  at  the  leather-dresser's^"  i 

Frank's  next  wish  was  to  go  to  a  leather-dresser's ; 
and  to  learn  how  the  leather  was  made  of  these  beauti«» 
ful  colours.  The  tanner  sard  that  he  always  sent  his 
leather,  as  soon  as  it  was  tanned,  to  a  leather-dresser, 
who  lived  in  a  town  at  twenty  miles'  distance  from  him, 
and  from  the  place  where  Frank's  father  and  mother 
lived.  j 

They  could  not  take  him  to  the  leather-dresser's  con* 
veniently.  In  a  book,  a  sort  of  dictionary,  which  his 
father  lent  him,  Frank  afterward  looked  for  an  account 
of  the  manner  in  which  leather  is  died.  He  found  that 
he  could  not  understand  it,  so  he  turned  his  attention  to, 
something  else  which  he  could  understand* 


The  next  day  he  passed  by  a  nailer's  forge,  and  he' 
asked  his  father  to  take  him  in,  and  to  let  him  see  how- 
nails  were  made.  In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  after- 
ward, he  saw  several  other  things  which  entertained 
him. 

Last  year,  when  he  had  seen  the  sheepshearing,  and 
had  been  told  that  the  wool  cut  from  the  back  of  the  sheep 
could  be  made  into  cloth  for  a  coat,  such  as  that  which 
he  wore,  he  had  been  curious  to  know  how  this  could 
be  done.  His  mother  showed  him  how  the  wool  is  spun 
into  woollen  yarn ;  and  this  year,  when  he  was  able  to 
understand  it,  his  father  showed  him  a  loom,  and  ex- 
plained to  him  the  parts  of  the  machine,  and  showed 
him  how  woollen  yarn  is  woven  into  cloth  by  means  of 
a  loom. 

This  summer  Frank  saw  several  other  things  about 
which  he  had  been  curious.  His  father  showed  him 
how  books  are  printed  in  a  printing-press.  And,  some 
time  afterward,  he  took  Frank  to  a  glasshouse,  and  let 
him  see  men  making  several  things — bottles,  decanters, 
tumblers — he  saw  them  pull  the  glass  when  it  is  hot 
and  soft  into  various  shapes ;  and  blow  air  into  it,  and 
blow  it  out  into  any  forms  they  pleased.  This  enter- 
tained him  exceedingly. 

But  whenever  Frank  saw  any  thing  that  entertained 
him  much,  he  always  wished  that  he  had  his  brother 
Edward,  or  his  cousin  William,  or  his  cousin  Frederick, 


H4  FRANK, 

w  Charles,  to  tell  it  to.  They  were  gone  home,  and  his 
brother  was  gone  to  school ;  and  Frank  wished  that  he 
had  some  companion  of  nearly  his  own  age  to  talk  and 
play  with. 


Frank  had  a  little  cotisin  Mary ;  and  abo^t  this  time 
little  Mary,  who  was  between  five  and  six  years  old, 
was  brought  to  his  mother's  house.  Mary  was  dressed  all 
in  black  when  Frank  first  saw  her ;  and  she  looked  very 
melancholy.  Frank  went  to  his  father,  who  was  stand- 
ing in  another  part  of  the  room ;  and  he  whispered  to 
his  father,  and  asked  why  Mary  was  dressed  in  black, 
and  why  she  looked  so  melaocholy.  His  father  an- 
swered— 

"  Because  her  mother  is  dead."      / 

"  Poor  girl !"  said  Frank.  "  If  my  mother  was  dead, 
how  sorry  I  shonld  be !  Poor  little  Mary  I  what  will 
she  do  without  a  mother !" 

"  Mary  is  to  hve  with  us,"  said  his  father ;  "  your 
mother  and  I  will  take  care  of  her,  and  teach  her  as  well 
as  we  can ;  and  you  will  be  kind  to  her,  will  you  joot, 
Frank?" 

"  That  I  will,  papa,"  said  Frank.  ■     ;,  .if 

He  ran  directly  for  those  of  his  playthings  which  he 
thought  would  please  her  the  most,  and  he  spread  them 
before  her.  She  looked  at  them,  and  smiled  a  little : 
but  she  soon  put  them  down  again,  and  did  not  seem  to 
be  amused  by  them.  Frank  took  her  to  his  garden,  and 
gathered  for  her  those  of  his  flowers  which  he  Liked  the 
best ;  but  she  did  not  seem  to  like  them  nearly  as  much 
as  he  did,  or  as  much  as  he  had  expected  that  she 
would.     She  said — 

"  Thank  you ;  but  mamma  had  nicer  flowers  than 
these  at  home.  I  wish  1  was  with  mamma — I  wish 
mamma  would  come  back  again  to  me." 

Frank  knew  that  her  mamma  could  not  come  back 
again  to  her  ;  but  he  did  not  say  so  then  to  Mary.  He 
took  her  to  look  at  the  house  which  he  was  building ; 
and  he  showed  her  the  sticks  which  his  papa  had  given 
him  for  the  roof,  and  he  explained  to  her  how  he  intend- 
ed to  roof  it,  and  how  he  intended  afterward  to  thatch 
it ;  he  said  that  they  two  could  work  at  it  together,  aad 
he  asked  her  if  she  should  like  it. 


FRANK.  145 

She  said  she  believed  that  she  should  like  it  "  by-and- 
by,  but  not  then." 

He  asked  her  what  she  meant  by  "  hy-and-hy y 

She  said,  "  To-morrow,  or  some  other  day,  but  not 
to-day." 

To-morrow  came  ;  and  little  Mary,  after  she  had 
slept  all  night,  and  after  she  had  eaten  some  breakfast, 
and  after  she  had  become  better  acquainted  with  all  the 
people  in  the  house,  who  were  strangers  to  her,  began 
to  look  more  cheerful ;  and,  by  degrees,  she  talked  a 
little  more ;  and  presently  she  began  to  run  about,  and 
to  play  with  Frank.  He  played  with  her  at  whatever 
she  liked  best ;  he  was  her  horse,  for  that  was  what 
she  asked  him  to  be ;  and  he  put  a  bridle  of  packthread 
round  his  body,  and  let  her  drive  him  ;  and  he  lent  her 
his  best  whip,  with  which  he  let  her  whip  him  on  as 
much  as  she  pleased. 

After  Mary  had  been  at  Frank's  home  for  a  few  days, 
she  began  to  call  it  her  home ;  and  she  called  his  mother 
"  mamma,"  and  she  seemed  happy  again.  But  J^rank 
could  not  at  all  times  play  with  her;  he  had  several 
other  things  to  do ;  and,  when  he  did  play  with  her,  he 
did  not  choose  always  to  play  at  the  play  which  she 
liked  best.  Sometimes,  at  night,  she  wanted  him  to 
make  a  cat's  cradle  or  a  paper  boat  for  her,  when  Frank 
wished  to  read  an  entertaining  book;  and  sometimes 
he  wanted  to  work  in  his  garden,  or  to  go  on  roofing  his 
house,  when  she  wished  him  to  be  her  horse,  or  to  roll 
her  in  the  wheelbarrow.  Upon  these  occasions  Mary 
was  sometimes  a  little  cross,  and  Frank  was  sometimes 
a  little  impatient. 

Frank  had  now  finished  roofing  his  house,  and  he  was 
beginning  to  thatch  it  in  the  manner  he  saw  the  thatch- 
er ;  he  wanted  Mary  to  help  him  :  he  told  her  she  must 
wait  upon  him,  as  he  had  seen  the  labourer  wait  upon 
the  thatcher  who  thatched  the  bam.  He  said  she  should 
be  his  straw-man ;  and  he  showed  her  how  to  carry  the 
straw  ;  and  he  charged  her  always  to  be  ready  when  he 
cried  out — 

"  More  straw ! — more,  man ! — more !" 

For  a  little  while  Mary  served  him  well,  and  had  the 
straw  ready  when  he  called  "  More  straw  !"  But  she 
was  soon  tired,  and  Frank  called — 

"More  straw! — more,  man! — more!"  several  times 
before  she  was  ready.  Frank  grew  angry,  and  he  said 
G 


146  FRANK. 

sh&  was  slow,  and  awkward,  and  lazy ;  and  she  said  she 
was  hot  and  tired,  and  that  she  would  not  be  his  straw- 
man  any  longer.  Frank  tried  to  convince  her  that  she 
was  wrong ;  and,  to  prove  it  to  her,  repeated  what  his 
father  had  told  him  about  the  division  of  labour. 

"  You  see,'*  said  he,  '*  I  am  forced  to  come  down  the 
ladder  every  time  I  want  straw ;  I  lose  my  time,  and  I 
cannot  get  on  near  so  quickly  as  if  you  carried  it  to 
nie.  When  I  go  on  doing  one  thing,  and  you  doing 
another,  to  be  ready  for  me,  you  cannot  think  how  well 
and  quickly  we  get  on — that  is  dividing  the  labour — 
the  division  of  labour — you  understand  V 

Mary  did  not  understand.  She  said,  "  I  do  not  know 
any  thing  about  that ;  but  I  don't  like  to  be  your  straw- 
man  any  longer,  and  I  will  not." 

Frank  pushed  her  away,  telling  her  she  might  go 
wherever  she  pleased.  She  stood  still  and  began  to 
cry.  Then  Frank  was  sorry  he  had  been  so  angry 
with  her ;  and  she  dried  up  her  tears  when  he  told  her 
so,  and  she  said  she  would  be  his  straw-man  again  if 
he  would  not  call  "  More  straw ! — more,  man  !"  so  very 
fast ;  and  if  he  would  not  call  her  stupid  or  lazy. 

To  this  Frank  agreed ;  and  they  went  on  again  for 
some  time,  he  thatching  and  she  carrying  straw,  and 
placing  little  bundles  ready  for  him :  and  they  were 
very  happy,  he  working  quickly,  and  she  helping  him 
nicely. 

"  How  much  happier  is  it  not  to  quarrel  I"  said  little 
Mary.  "  But  now  I  am  really  quite  tired — will  you  let 
me  rest?" 

"  Yes,  and  welcome !"  said  Frank,  "  though  I  am  not 
in  the  least  tired." 

He  came  down  the  ladder,  and  he  went  and  looked 
for  some  wood  strawberries,  and  brought  them  to  her, 
and  they  ate  them  together  very  happily. 

"  I  cut,  and  you  choose — that  is  fair,  is  not  it,  Mary  V 
said  Frank. 

Whenever  any  pie  or  pudding,  fruit,  cake,  or  any  thing 
which  they  both  liked  to  eat  was  given  to  them,  Frank 
was  usually  desired  to  divide  it ;  and  this  he  did  with 
most  accurate  justice.  When  he  had  divided  it  as  well 
as  he  could,  he  always  desired  Mary  to  choose  which- 
ever piece  she  liked  for  herself ;  so  that,  if  there  was  apy 
advantage,  she  might  have  it.  This  was  being  just ; 
but,  besides  being  just,  Frank  was  generous.     Every 


FRANK.  147 

thing  that  was  given  to  him  to  share  with  his  little  cousin 
he  always  gave  her  a  part,  and  often  a  larger  or  a  better 
part  than  that  which  he  kept  for  himself.  Nobody 
knew  this  but  Mary  and  himself;  for  he  did  not  want 
to  be  praised  for  it ;  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  doing  it,  and 
the  pleasure  he  saw  that  he  gave  her,  was  quite  enough. 
But  though  Frank  was  so  good-natured  to  his  little 
cousin,  yet  he  had  faults.  He  was  passionate;  and 
sometimes,  when  he  was  in  a  passion,  he  did  what  he 
was  afterward  very  sorry  for.  Till  little  Mary  came  to 
his  mother's,  he  had  not  been  used  to  live  with  any  one 
who  was  younger  and  weaker  than  himself. 

When  he  found  that  he  was  the  strongest,  he  some- 
times, in  playing  with  little  Mary,  took  advantage  of  his 
strength,  to  make  her  do  what  he  commanded  her ;  and 
when  he  was  impatient  to  get  any  thing  from  her,  he  now 
and  then  snatched  or  forced  it  rudely  from  her  hands. 
One  day  she  had  a  new  ball,  which  she  held  between 
both  her  hands,  and  she  would  not  let  Frank  look  at  it ; 
she  was  half  in  play,  and,  at  first,  Frank  was  playing 
with  her  also ;  but  when  she  persisted  in  refusing  to  let 
him  see  it,  he  grew  angry,  and  he  squeezed  her  hands, 
and  twisted  her  wrist  with  violence,  to  make  her  open 
her  hands.  She  being  in  great  pain,  roared  out  so 
loudly  that  Frank's  father,  who  was  in  the  room  over 
that  in  which  they  were,  came  down  to  inquire  what 
was  the  matter.  Mary  stopped  crying  the  moment  he 
appeared  :  Frank  looked  ashamed,  but  he  went  forward 
to  his  father  directly,  and  said — 

"  It  was  I  who  hurt  her,  papa — I  squeezed  her  hands 
to  make  her  give  me  this  ball." 

"  You  have  hurt  her,  indeed !"  said  his  father,  looking 
af  little  Mary's  wrist,  which  was  very  red,  and  was 
beginning  to  swell.  "  O  Frank!"  continued  his  father, 
"  1  thought  you  would  use  your  strength  to  help,  and 
not  to  hurt  those  who  are  weaker  than  yourself." 

"  So  I  do  always  papa,  except  when  she  puts  me  in 
a  passion." 

"  But  the  ball  was  my  own  ball,"  said  Mary ;  "  and  you 
had  no  right  to  take  it  from  me." 

"  I  did  not  want  to  take  it  from  you,  Mary ;  I  only 
wanted  to  look  at  it ;  and  you  began  first  to  be  cross— 
you  were  very  cross." 

**  No,  Frank,  you  were  the  crassest/* 
I     "You  are  both  cross  now,  I  think,"  said  Frank's 
G  2 


148  FRANK. 

father;  "and  since  you  cannot  agree  when  you  are 
together,  you  must  be  separated." 

Then  he  sent  them  into  different  rooms,  and  they 
were  not  allowed  to  play  together  during  the  remainder 
of  that  day. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast,  Frank's  father  asked 

them  whether  they  had  been  as  happy  yesterday  as  they 

usually  had  been ;  and  they  both  answered  no.     Then 

he  asked, 

,  "  Do  you  like  better  to  be  together  or  to  be  separate  I" 

"  We  like  a  great  deal  better  to  be  together,"  said 
Frank  and  Mary. 

"  Then,  my  dear  children,  take  care  and  do  not  quar- 
rel," said  Frank's  father ;  "  for,  whenever  you  quarrel, 
without  asking  any  questions  about  who  was  cross,  or 
Grosser,  or  Grossest,  or  who  began  first,  I  shall  end  your 
dispute  at  once  by  separating  you.  You,  Friink,  under- 
stand the  nature  and  use  of  punishment ;  you  know — " 

"  Yes,  papa,  I  know,"  interrupted  Frank,  "  that  it  is 
— it  is  pain.  Papa,  will  you  explain  it ;  for,  though  I 
know  it,  I  cannot  say  it  in  good  words." 

"  Try  to  explain  it  in  any  words." 

"  When  you  punish  me,  papa,  you  give  me  pain,  or 
you  take  something  from  me  which  I  like  to  have,  or 
you  hinder  me  from  having  something  that  I  like,  or 
from  doing  something  that  I  like  to  do — " 

"  Well,  go  on  ;  when  and  for  what  reason  do  I  give 
you  pain,  or  prevent  you  from  having  pleasure  1" 

"  When  I  have  done  something  wrong,  and  because  I 
have  done  something  wrong." 

"  And  do  I  give  you  this  pain  of  punishment  because 
I  like  to  give  you  pain,  or  for  what  purpose  V 

"  Not  because  you  like  to  give  me  pain,  I  am  sure, 
papa ;  but  to  cure  me  of  my  faults — to  hinder  me  from 
doing  wrong  again." 

"  And  how  will  punishment  cure  you  of  your  faults, 
or  prevent  you  from  doing  wrong  again  V 

"  You  know,  papa,  I  should  be  afraid  to  have  the  same 
punishment  again  if  I  were  to  do  the  same  wrong  thing ; 
and  the  pam  and  the  shame  of  the  punishment  make  me 
remember.  I  remember  them  a  great  while :  and  the 
punishment  comes  into  my  head,  that  is,  I  think  of  it 
again,  whenever  I  think  of  the  wrong  thing  for  which  I 
was  punished ;  and  if  I  was  tempted  to  do  that  same 


FRANK.  !49 

thing  again,  just  at  the  very  time  1  should  recollect  the 
punishment,  and  I  should  not  do  it.     I  believe—" 

"  Then,  according  to  your  description  of  it,  just  pun- 
ishment is  pain  given  to  a  person  who  has  done  what  is 
wrong,  to  prevent  that  person  from  doing  wrong  again." 
ftK ,"  Yes,  papa ;  that  is  what  I  wanted  to  say." 
•  ,:  "And  is  there  no  other  use  in  punishments,  do  you 
think,  Frank?" 

"  O  yes,  papa ! — to  prevent  other  people  from  doing 
wrong :  because  they  see  the  person  who  has  done 
wrong  is  punished  ;  and  if  they  are  sure  that  they  shall 
have  the  same  punishment  if  they  do  the  same  thing, 
they  take  care  not  to  do  it.  I  heard  John,  the  garden- 
er's son,  saying  yesterday  to  his  brother,  that  the  boy  who 
robbed  his  garden  last  week  was  taken  and  had  been 
whipped ;  and  that  this  would  be  a  fine  example  for  all 
the  children  in  the  village,  and  would  hinder  them  from 
doing  the  same  thing  again." 

"  Then  just  punishment  is  pain  given  to  those  who  do 
wrong,  to  prevent  them  from  doing  that  wrong  again ; 
and  to  prevent  others  from  doing  wrong." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  Frank ;  "  but,  papa,  why  do  you 
tell  me  all  this  1  Why  do  you  ask  me  these  things  ?" 

"  Because,  my  dear,  now  that  you  are  becoming  a 
reasonable  creature,  and  that  you  can  understand  me,  I 
wish  as  much  as  possible  to  explain  to  you  the  reasons 
for  all  I  do  in  educating  you.  Brutes,  who  have  no 
sense,  are  governed  by  blows ;  but  human  creatures, 
who  can  think  and  reason,  can  be  governed,  and  can 
govern  themselves,  by  considering  what  is  right,  and 
what  makes  them  happy.  I  do  not  treat  you  as  a  brute, 
but  as  a  reasonable  creature  ;  and  on  every  occasion  I 
endeavour  to  explain  to  you  what  is  right  and  wrong, 
and  what  is  just  and  unjust." 

"Thank  you,  papa,"  said  Frank.  "I  wish  to  be 
treated  like  a  reasonable  creature.  Papa,  may  I  say 
one  thing  I" 

"  As  many  things  as  you  please,  my  dear." 

"  But,  papa,  this  one  thing  is  about  you ;  and  perhaps 
you  will  not  like  it.  Papa,  I  do  not  think  it  is  just  to 
separate  Mary  and  me  whenever  we  quarrel,  without 
examining  or  inquiring  which  is  in  the  wrong." 

"  When  people  quarrel,  they  generally  are  both  in  the 
wnrong." 

"  But  not  always,  papa ;  and  one  is  often  more  in  the 


150  PKANK. 

wrong  than  the  other ;  and  it  is  not  just  that  the  cnie 
who  is  least  in  the  wrong  should  be  punished  as  much 
as  the  person  who  did  most  wrong." 

Here  Frank  paused,  and  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes ; 
and,  after  a  little  struggle  within  himself,  he  added — 

"  Now  it  is  all  over,  papa,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  was 
most  to  blame.  1  was  the  most  in  the  wrong  in  that 
quarrel  which  little  Mary  and  I  had  yesterday.  It  was 
I  hurt  her,  by  squeezing  her  hand  violently,  and  she 
only  cried  out ;  and  yet  she  was  punished  as  much  as  I 
was." 

"  My  dear,  honest,  just,  generous  boy '."  said  his 
father,  putting  his  hand  upon  Frank's  head,  "  act  al- 
ways, feel  always,  as  you  now  do ;  and  when  you  have 
been  wrong,  always  have  candour  and  courage  enough 
to  acknowledge  it." 

Little  Mary,  who  had  gone  away  to  her  playthings 
while  they  had  been  talking  of  what  she  did  not  under- 
stand, left  her  playthings  and  came  back,  and  stood  be- 
side Frank,  looking  up  in  his  face,  and  listening  eagerly, 
when  he  said  that  he  had  been  most  to  blame  in  their 
quarrel.  And  when  his  father  praised  him,  Mary 
smiled,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure.  After  his 
father  had  done  speaking,  she  said — 

"  Frank  is  very  good  to  tell  that  he  was  the  most  wrong ; 
but  I  was  a  little  wrong — I  cried  more  than  I  should  have 
done,  and  a  great  deal  louder,  because  I  was  angry." 

"  There  is  a  good  girl !"  said  Frank's  father,  stroking 
her  head.  "  Now  that  is  all  over,  let  us  think  of  the 
future.  You  say,  Frank,  that  you  do  not  think  it  just 
that  you  should  be  separated  when  you  quarrel,  because 
that  separation  is  the  same  punishment  for  both,  when 
perhaps  only  one  is  to  blame,  or  one  much  more  to 
blame  than  the  other.  Do  I  understand  you]  Do  I 
state  clearly  what  you  mean  T" 

"  Yes,  papa — pretty  well — not  quite.  I  think  the  sep- 
arating us  is  just  enough,  because,  as  you  say,  when  we 
quarrel,  we  generally  are  both  to  blame,  more  or  less ; 
and  besides,  when  we  are  angry,  we  cannot  have  any 
pleasure  in  being  together.  So  I  give  up  that.  But  I 
think  that  before  you  separate  us,  you  or  mamma  should 
always  inquire  and  find  out  which  of  us  is  most  to  blame, 
and  exactly  how  much ;  and  then  the  person  who  has 
been  most  wrong  will  have  the  most  shoTne ;  and  th$l 
will  make  the  punishment  just  as  it  should  be." 


PRANK.  151 

••  Well  argued,  my  boy !  This  would  be  strictly  just 
as  far  as  you  two  are  concerned ;  but  you  must  consid- 
er slIso  what  is  just  for  your  mother  and  for  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  papa  1  I  do  not  want  to  pun- 
ish mamma  or  you — you  do  not  quarrel,"  said  Frank, 
laughing.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  separate  you,  or  to  pun- 
ish mamma  or  you,  papa.     I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  Listen  to  me,  and  perhaps  I  shall  make  you  under- 
stand me.  You  say  you  do  not  want  to  punish  me  or 
your  mother;  and  yet  you  would  punish  us  both  when- 
ever you  quarrelled,  if  we  were  obliged  to  give  up  our 
time,  and  to  leave  whatever  we  were  doing  that  was 
agreeable  to  us,  in  order  to  settle  which  of  you  two 
were  most  to  blame  in  a  dispute,  perhaps,  about  a  straw, 
or  something  of  as  little  value.  Now  suppose  you  two 
were  to  quarrel  every  hour — " 

"  O  sir !"  interrupted  little  Mary,  "  quarrel  every  hour '. 
— Oh ! — Oh ! — that  is  quite  impossible." 

"  But  my  father  only  says  suppose — we  can  suppose 
any  thing,  you  know,"  said  Frank.  "Well,  suppose, 
papa — " 

"  And  suppose,  Frank,  that  every  hour  it  would  re- 
quire a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  your  mother's  time  or 
mine  to  listen  to  both,  and  settle  which  was  to  blame — " 

"  A  quarter  of  an  hour ! — that  is  a  great  deal  too  much 
time  to  allow." 

"  We  have  been  talking  now,  Frank,  above  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  I  think." 

"  Indeed  ! — I  never  should  have  guessed  that !" 

"  Should  not  you  ■?  When  people  are  much  interested 
about  any  thing,  they  talk  on  a  great  while  without  con- 
sidering how  time  passes." 

"  That  is  true.  Well,  allow  a  quarter  of  an  hour  each 
quarrel,  and  one  every  hour,"  said  Frank. 

"And  count  twelve  hours  as  a  day — then  twelve 
quarters  of  an  hour,  Mary,  how  many  whole  hours  wiU 
that  make  ?"  z^ 

Mary  answered,  after  thinking  a  httle  while,  "  I  don't 
know." 

Frank  answered — "  Three  hours." 

"  So  three  whole  hours,  Frank,  your  mother  or  I 
must,  according  to  your  plan,  give  up  every  day  to  set- 
tle your  quarrels." 

"  That  would  be  too  much,  really !"  said  Frank.  "  But 
this  is  only  arguing  upon  your  suppose,  papa." 


152  PRANK. 

"  Well,  state  that  j'ou  quarrel  only  once  a  day ;  tell 
me  why  your  mother  or  1  should  be  punished  by  taking 
up  our  time  disagreeably  in  settling  your  little  disputes, 
provided  any  other  manner  of  settling  them  would  suc- 
ceed as  well.  Be  just  to  us,  Frank,  as  well  as  to  your- 
self and  to  Mary." 

"  I  will,  papa — I  will  be  just  to  you ;  I  acknowledge 
we  should  not  take  up  your  time  disagreeably  in  settling 
our  disputes,  if  they  could  be  settled  as  well  any  other 
way ;  but  all  depends  upon  that  if— yon  will  acknowl- 
edge that,  father  1" 

"  I  do  acknowledge  it,  Frank.  This  question  can  be 
decided,  then,  only  by  experience — by  irymg  whether 
the  fact  is  so  or  not.  Let  us  try  my  way,  if  you  please, 
for  one  month ;  and  afterward,  if  mine  does  not  succeed, 
I  will  try  yours  " 


to 


^J^Tflf  X«*«  <j^ 


•-\i*i»  ,ll 


PREFACE  TO  PARENTS. 

"  Now  look  on  him,  whose  very  voice,  in  tone,  ^ 

Just  echoes  thine  ;  whose  features  are  thine  ovni ; 
And  stroke  his  pohshed  cheek  of  purest  red, 
And  lay  thine  hand  upon  his  flaxen  head. 
And  say,  '  My  boy,  th'  unwelcome  hour  is  come, 
When  thou,  transplanted  from  thy  genial  home. 
Must  find  a  colder  soil  and  bleaker  air. 
And  trust  for  safety  to  a  stranger's  care.' 
— Thou  wouldst  not,  deaf  to  nature's  tenderest  plea. 
Turn  him  adrift  upon  a  rolling  sea , 
Nor  say.  Go  hither  !  conscious  that  there  lay 
i- ;         A  brood  of  asps  or  quicksands  in  his  way. 
Then,  only  governed  by  the  selfsame  rule 
Of  natural  pity,  send  him  not  to  school." 

How  these  lines  must  strike  any  affectionate  parent 
who  is  going  to  send  a  boy  to  school !  Yet,  when  the 
first  effect  of  the  flash  and  stroke  of  eloquence  passes 
away,  as  the  mind  subsides  to  calm,  we  question  whether 
the  danger  be  real  or  imaginary.  The  common  reflec- 
tion, that  most  of  the  great  men  of  England  have  been 
educated  at  public  schools,  recurs  to  the  father  and 
mother,  or  is  suggested  to  them  by  some  friend  of  the 
family,  who  has  himself  been  brought  up  in  one  of  our 
great  seminaries.  They  listen,  and  are  persuaded,  if 
not  convinced ;  for  those  who  are  most  readily  alarmed 
by  eloquence  are  most  easily  relieved  by  assertion : 
ashamed  of  having  been  moved  too  far  in  the  moment 
of  alarm,  they  go  directly  to  the  contrary  extreme  of 
rash  security.  They  laugh  at  the  poetic  peril  of  asps 
and  quicksands,  neglect  to  examine  into  the  nature  of 
the  real  danger,  and  dismiss  at  once  aU  fear  of  the  simile, 
and  all  care  for  the  truth. 

It  is  to  be  desired  that,  on  a  subject  of  so  much  im- 
portance to  their  children  and  themselves,  parents  might 
feel  something  more  than  the  evanescent  effect  of  elo- 
quence, and  might  be  excited  to  a  serious  examination 
of  the  facts.  But  even  those  who  do  not  content  them- 
selves with  a  mere  dramatic  start,  or  sentimental  excla- 
mation, and  who  are  seriously  aware  of  the  danger, 
imagine  that  the  evils,  if  not  necessary,  are  unavoidable. 
G3 


154  TO  PARENTS. 

It  must  be  sufficiently  obvious,  even  to  the  most  zealous 
friends  of  private  education,  that  from  various  circum- 
stances of  inexpediency  and  impossibility,  vast  numbers 
of  children  cannot  be  bred  up  at  home  ;  they  must  go  to 
school,  and  to  some  of  the  seminaries  which  exist. 

When  it  comes  to  the  usual  age  for  sending  the  boy 
from  home,  this  sense  of  necessity  presses  upon  the 
father  and  mother :  they  think  that  all  they  can  do  is  to 
choose  for  their  son  the  school  of  which  they  hear  the 
best  character ;  they  know  all  have  their  faults ;  they 
are  sorry  for  it,  but  they  cannot  help  it ;  whatever  these 
faults  may  be,  the  individual  parent  cannot  rectify  them 
at  the  moment  his  boy  is  to  go  to  school;  and  because 
they  cannot  do  every  thing,  they  are  content  to  do  noth- 
ing. They  submit  with  indolent  resignation  to  the  plea 
of  necessity,  consoling  themselves  with  the  sophisms 
of  commonplace  philosophy. 

They  tell  you,  or  they  tell  themselves,  that  if  the 
power  of  new  modelling  our  institutions  were  put  into 
the  hands  of  any  of  those  who  wish  for  their  reform, 
they  might  not  be  able  to  satisfy  themselves  or  others 
in  the  execution  of  new  plans :  that  in  the  hurry  and 
zeal  of  innovation,  they  might  run  from  evils  that  we 
know  to  those  we  know  not  of.  These  considerations, 
obvious  as  they  are,  may  afford  some  comfort  under 
the  impossibility  of  sudden  change,  and  may  reconcile 
us  to  the  slow  operations  of  time  and  truth,  acting  as 
they  do  irresistibly  together.  Though  it  cannot  be 
hoped  that  by  any  combination  of  opinion  and  effort  a 
perfect  school,  such  as  anxious  parents  would  desire, 
can,  in  our  days,  or  perhaps  ever,  be  realized,  yet  con- 
tinual advances  towards  excellence  may  be  made. 

But,  in  the  "meantime,  there  is  something  which 
every  parent  can  do,  something  more  safe  than  sudden 
innovation ;  more  manly,  more  becoming,  more  useful, 
than  indulgence  in  idle  declamation  or  indolent  despair. 
Every  father,  every  mother,  can,  by  preparatory  care, 
direct  the  home  education  of  their  boys  before  they 
send  them  to  school. 

Every  parent  can,  by  this  preparatory  care,  easily  do 
that  which  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  any  schoolmaster 
to  effect,  -however  able  or  zealous. 

For,  picture  to  yourself  a  perfect  schoolmaster. — Un- 
less he  be  endowed  with  the  gifts  of  ubiquity  and  om- 
niscience, unless  he  neither  sleep  nor  nod,  he  cannot 


TO  PARENTS.  136 

always  see,  or  always  know,  what  is  going  on  among 
the  hundreds  assembled  under  his  tuition;  he  can  make 
only  general  regulations,  and  enforce  obedience  to 
these  ;  but  he  has  no  time  for  individual  inspection  ;  he 
cannot  attend  to  the  habits  of  each  boy's  understanding 
or  temper,  nor  adapt  his  moral  instruction  to  the  cure 
of  his  defects.  Yet  this  is  expected,  and  more  :  he  is 
expected  to  correct,  in  a  few  months,  perhaps,  all  the 
faults,  all  the  bad  habits,  which  boys  may  have  acquired 
during  the  eight  or  ten  previous  years  of  their  life. 

Parents  sometimes  seem  to  consider  a  schoolmaster 
as  a  magician,  who  can  accomplish  every  wish,  how- 
ever extravagant ;  who  can  confer  every  moral  gift,  and 
every  intellectual  talent. 

Sending  a  boy  to  school  is  by  such  parents  considered 
as  a  remedy  for  every  evil.  Is  their  boy  indolent? 
Oh,  send  him  to  school,  and  he  will  become  active.  Is 
he  headstrong "?  No  matter,  his  temper  will  be  cured 
at  school.  Is  he  bashfuU  He  will  become  confident 
enough  at  a  public  school.  Is  he  selfish  1  He  will  be- 
come generous.  Is  he  cowardly?  He  will  become 
brave.  Above  all,  he  will  learn  to  be  manly ;  every  boy 
becomes  manly  at  school.  But  he  has  no  habits  of  ap- 
plication, order,  or  truth.  No  matter,  he  will  learn 
them  all  when  he  goes  to  school ;  it  is  his  master's  busi- 
ness to  teach  him  these.  He  does  not  know,  perhaps, 
how  to  write,  or  to  read,  or  to  spell,  or  to  speak  his 
mother  tongue  correctly.  But  it  is  his  schoolmaster's 
business  to  teach  him :  why  should  he  be  teased  with 
these  things  at  home  ?  His  parents  may  indulge  him 
and  spoil  him  as  much  as  they  please  ;  it  is  the  business 
of  that  devoted  being,  of  that  martyr,  a  schoolmaster,  to 
do  and  to  suffer  all  that  parents  themselves  cannot  do 
or  suffer.  Without  pleading  in  his  favour  (for  who 
would  undertake  so  unpopular  a  cause?),  it  may  be  pru- 
dent, on  the  part  of  parents,  to  consider  whether,  if 
their  sons  afterward  should  disappoint  their  expecta- 
tions, should  turn  out  blockheads  or  spendthrifts,  should 
throw  away  their  fortunes  at  the  gaming  table,  or  their 
lives  in  disgraceful  connexions  or  ill-assorted  marriages, 
should  make  their  hearts  ache  for  many  a  long  year, 
and  bring  their  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave,  it 
would  be  a  sufficient  consolation,  or  quieting  to  their 
conscience,  to  throw  the  blame  upon  the  negligence  of 
the  schoolmaster,  and  the  vices  of  our  public  institutions. 


15G  TO  PARENTS. 

It  is  the  object  of  the  present  little  book  not  only  to 
contribute  to  the  amusement  and  advantage  of  children, 
but  to  point  out  by  what  means  every  father,  and  stiU 
more,  every  mother,  may,  by  care  in  the  previous  edu- 
cation of  their  children  at  home,  guard  in  a  great  meas- 
ure against  the  danger  which  they  fear  at  school ;  and 
by  what  means  they  may  give  to  their  boys  the  greatest 
chance  of  securing  every  advantage  to  be  hoped  from 
public  education. 

The  following  pages  contain  the  history  of  Frank 
from  seven  years  old,  where  we  left  him,  tiU  between 
ten  and  eleven.  From  the  time  his  father  determined 
to  send  him  to  a  public  school,  this  preparatory  educa- 
tion appears  to  commence. 

It  is  by  no  means  presumed  that  the  course  here  fol- 
lowed is  the  best,  or  the  only  course  possible.  A  thou- 
sand different  roads  may  be  taken  that  will  lead  to  the 
same  end.  Provided  that  the  great  object  be  kept 
steadily  in  view,  every  one  may  please  himself  in  the 
choice  of  a  path. 

The  great  object  is  to  give  your  son  good  principles, 
and  to  teach  him  to  abide  by  his  resolutions.  It  is  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  resolution  can  be  exercised 
only  upon  great  occasions,  or  in  matters  of  consequence. 
The  habit  of  self-control  can  be  formed  by  daily  gradual 
exercise  in  early  childhood ;  and  it  is  by  attention  to 
this  that  a  fond  and  judicious  mother  may  prepare  her 
child  with  resolution  to  resist  all  the  new  temptations 
which  may  occur  when  he  shall  leave  her  guardian 
care.  This  is  to  be  done,  not  by  teasing  him  with  ad- 
monition upon  every  slight  occasion,  but  by  inspiring  in 
his  own  mind  the  wish  to  control  himself. 

Usually,  the  first  ambition  of  a  schoolboy  is  to  be 
thought  manly.  Manly !  How  many  boys  and  men 
have  been  destroyed  by  the  false  ideas  annexed  to  this 
word !  Folly,  frolic,  extravagance,  passion,  violence, 
brutality,  every  excess,  every  vice,  seek  shelter  from 
infamy,  and  too  often  find  it,  under  this  imposing  word. 
Thousands  of  fine  boys,  the  finest,  of  the  highest  spirit, 
of  the  best  talent,  the  most  generous  disposition,  have 
been  ruined  by  their  false  conceptions  of  this  single 
word.  The  first  danger  a  boy  has  to  encounter  at  a 
public  school,  is  from  this  word  manly.  He  hears  that 
it  is  manly  to  do  whatever  is  done  by  boys  older  and 
taller,  not  wiser,  than  himself.    He  is,  in  the  first  place, 


TO  PARENTS.  157 

laughed  at  for  having  been  bred  up  at  home  ;  ridiculed 
for  all  that  he  has  been  taught  to  think  right  at  home ; 
taught  that  it  is  manly  to  throw  off  home  restraint, 
and  to  resist  home  influence.  Even  while  his  affection 
for  his  friends  remains  undiminished,  he  is  taught  to  be 
ashamed  to  show  it ;  and  he  is  led  to  set  at  naught  the 
opinion  and  advice  of  fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  and 
sisters,  because  his  schoolfellows  call  this  being  manly 
and  independent.  This  first  step  in  error  leads  neces- 
sarily to  others  more  dangerous:  first,  he  is  afraid  of 
being  thought  a  child ;  next,  of  being  thought  a  milksop. 
First,  the  influence  of  parents,  next,  the  control  of  mas- 
ters, must  be  set  at  defiance ;  then  every  sort  of  re- 
straint, moral  and  religious,  must  be  conquered :  he 
must  drink,  he  must  game,  he  must  get  in  debt,  he 
must  lie  to  conceal  his  debt  from  his  parents,  he  must 
practise  every  species  of  falsehood  and  meanness,  to 
do  as  others  do,  who  call  themselves  manly,  independent, 
spirited. 

Parents,  if  you  would  prevent  your  sons  from  setting 
at  naught  your  influence,  if  you  would  save  your  sons 
from  destruction,  moral  and  worldly,  give  them,  before 
you  send  them  to  a  public  school,  just  ideas  of  what  is, 
or  ought  to  be,  meant  by  a  manly  character.  But  can 
this  be  done  so  early  1  Yes,  it  can.  Mothers,  when  first 
you  see  the  infant  ambition  to  be  manly  break  forth  in 
your  boys,  smile  upon  it,  encourage  it,  but  mark  that 
you  guide  it  well.  Your  boy  first  shows  himself  eager 
to  excel  his  companions  in  bodily  strength  and  agility. 
He  is  proud  to  be  able  to  walk,  to  run,  to  wrestle,  to 
ride,  better  than  boys  a  little  older,  or  perhaps  a  little 
taller  than  himself,  and  you  praise  him  for  being  manly  ; 
and  this  is  all  well,  provided  it  be  not  done  in  the  mere 
spirit  of  imitation ;  but  if  once  you  let  that  spirit  rule, 
without  reference  to  what  is  good  in  itself,  you  will  re- 
pent it  as  surely  as  you  and  your  children  live.  Teach 
your  son  the  truth,  that  manly  exercises  are  useful  in 
themselves,  as  part  of  a  manly  character,  but  not  the 
whole.  Teach  him  that  to  be  manly,  strength  of  mind 
is  still  more  essential  than  strength  of  body.  Teach 
him  that  it  is  only  the  weak  who  require  the  support 
of  numbers  to  prove  to  them  that  they  are  in  the  right. 
Teach  your  son  that  manly  strength  of  character  is 
shown  in  abiding  by  his  conviction  and  his  resolution  ; 
14 


168  TO   PARENTS 

in  defying  ridicule,  and  in  resisting  all  that  is  wrong  in 
every  shape. 

High-sounding  words !  too  high,  it  may  perhaps  be 
thought,  for  children  to  feel  or  understand.  No ;  try  them, 
and  you  will  find  that  these  sentiments  are  not  above 
their  comprehension.  When  once  the  infant  thought 
has  been  touched  with  this  noble  feeling,  this  generous 
ambition,  the  main  point  of  education  is  secure.  Rest 
your  hope,  and  his  own  hopes  of  himself,  firmly  on  this 
desire  and  effort  to  improve.  Do  not  wear  out  his  sen- 
sibility of  conscience  by  teaching  that  slight  deviations 
are  irreparable  ;  for  by  this  you  will  either  make  your 
boy  despair  of  himself,  or  teach  him  to  be  a  hypocrite. 

Few  can,  or  will,  or  ought,  perhaps,  to  give  up  so 
much  of  their  time  and  attention  as  Frank's  father  and 
mother  did  to  their  son.  The  details  of  what  was  done 
by  them  are  given,  not  as  models  of  imitation,  but  as 
modes  of  illustrating  general  principles :  as  hints,  which 
the  understanding  aiid  affection  of  parents  will  easily 
apply  in  varying  circumstances.  It  is  impossible  to 
mark  the  differences  without  knowing  each  peculiar  case. 
All  that  can  be  done  is  to  give  the  example  of  a  child 
who  probably  resembles  in  the  principal  points  a  large 
proportion  of  boys  of  his  age. 

It  will  be  observed  by  those  who  were  formerly  ac- 
quainted with  Frank,  and  who  are  kind  enough  to  retain 
any  recollection  of  his  early  history,  that  he  is  become, 
we  will  not  say  more  conceited,  that  is  a  harsh  word, 
but  more  fond  of  praise  than  when  we  parted  from  him 
last.  In  this  tendency  to  vanity  he  will  be  found,  prob- 
ably, to  resemble  most  vivacious  boys  of  his  age,  who 
have  been  educated  as  he  unfortunately  was,  without 
any  but  female  companions  at  home. 

Some  other  faults  have  likewise  broken  out  in  him, 
which  are  likely  to  be  the  result  of  anxious  private  edu- 
cation. There  are  two  classes  of  parents  to  be  consid- 
ered ;  those  who  are  too  careless,  and  those  who  tire  too 
anxious.  To  the  careless  we  have  said  enough,  we 
hope,  to  arouse  them  to  attention :  but  the  fault  of  the 
present  day  is  too  much  anxiety  concerning  details. 
Parents  and  private  tutors  are  not  only  too  eager  to 
adopt  every  new  receipt  for  teaching  much  in  a  short 
time,  but  are  also  too  easily  alarmed  by  every  deficiency 
which  they  perceive  in  their  pupils,  and  draw  too  readily 


TO  Parents  159 

evil  auguries  from  every  trifle.  They  are  so  anxious 
to  make  their  pupils  go  on,  and  go  right,  and  go  straight, 
every  instant,  that  they  deprive  them  of  the  power  of 
acting,  thinking,  feeling  for  themselves.  Thus  they 
turn  them  either  into  helpless  puppets,  who  must  cease 
to  move,  or  fall,  when  the  guiding-strings  are  no  longer 
pulled ;  or,  if  they  be  not  reduced  to  this  automaton 
state,  they  become  restiff,  wilful  creatures,  who,  the 
instant  they  are  at  liberty,  set  off  in  a  contrary  direction 
to  that  in  which  they  have  been  forced. 

Frank's  father  and  mother  are  not  wholly  free  from 
this  over  anxiety,  inseparable,  perhaps,  from  tender  pa- 
rental affection ;  but  it  appears  that  they  are  conscious 
of  its  danger,  and  endeavour,  as  far  as  human  nature 
will  permit,  to  counteract  its  effects. 

Their  errors  may,  perhaps,  be  more  useful  to  parents 
than  all  their  sense  or  their  exertions.  In  the  chief 
points  they  can  scarcely  lead  astray  those  who  may 
most  actively  follow  their  example ;  nor  is  that  exam- 
ple calculated  to  throw  the  most  timid  into  despair. 
Without  limiting  to  a  particular  course  of  lessons,  they 
excite  their  boy  to  acquire  that  knowledge  which  it  is 
most  necessary  for  him  to  attain  before  he  goes  to 
school ;  and  as  to  the  rest,  they  are  content  with  inspi- 
ring him  with  that  general  love  of  literature,  which  they 
know  will  make  him  continue  to  read  and  improve  him- 
self when  he  is  left  to  his  own  guidance.  Without  too 
rigid  morality,  they  uniformly  press  the  great  principles 
of  right  and  wrong,  and  endeavour  to  educate  a  con- 
science that  shall  neither  be  too  tender  nor  too  callous. 
They  try  by  all  means  to  give  Frank  self-control  and 
self-command ;  knowing  that  if  he  obtain  these  he  will 
have  the  best  chance  of  being  able  to  resist  temptation, 
in  whatever  circumstances  he  may  be  placed ;  and  they 
leave  much  to  a  large  chapter,  which  has  been  forgot- 
ten in  most  modern  systems  of  education — the  chapter 
of  accidents. 

AH  this  can  surely  be  done  by  every  parent  who  really 
wishes  it,  and  without  any  pedantry  of^ system,  or  appa- 
ratus of  discipline  and  masters :  as  the  most  classically 
eloquent  of  modem  moralists  has  observed,  in  a  com- 
prehensive essay  on  the  question  of  "  What  is  Educa- 
tion 1" 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  devote  to  the  education  of  one 
child  the  talents  and  the  time  of  a  number  of  grown 


160  TO    PARENTS. 

men,  to  surround  him  with  an  artificial  world,  and  to 
counteract  by  maxims  the  natural  tendencies  of  the  sit- 
uation he  is  placed  in  in  society.  Every  one  has  time 
to  educate  his  child ;  the  poor  man  educates  him  while 
working  in  his  cottage,  the  man  of  business  while  em- 
ployed in  his  counting-house." 

"  Do  we  see  a  father  who  is  diligent  in  his  profession, 
domestic  in  his  habits,  whose  house  is  the  resort  of 
well-informed,  inteUigent  people  ;  a  mother  whose  time 
is  usefully  filled,  whose  attention  to  her  duties  secures 
esteem,  and  whose  amiable  manners  attract  affection  "i 
Do  not  be  solicitous,  respectable  couple,  about  the  moral 
education  of  your  offspring.  Do  not  be  uneasy  because 
you  cannot  surround  them  with  the  apparatus  of  books 
and  systems,  or  fancy  you  must  retire  from  the  world 
to  devote  yourself  to  their  improvement.  In  your  world 
they  are  brought  up  much  better  than  they  could  be 
under  any  plan  of  factitious  education  which  you  could 
provide  for  them :  they  will  imbibe  affection  from  your 
caresses,  taste  from  your  conversation,  urbanity  from 
the  commerce  of  vour  society,  and  mutual  love  from 
your  example." 


.7m^lai^ 


FRANK. 

"  Look,  my  dear  Mary,  look  what  my  father  has  given 
us,"  cried  Frank,  as  he  came  into  the  room,  carrying  a 
'  basket,  which  was  full  and  heavy. 

"  What  is  in  it  T'  said  Mary,  eagerly  taking  off  the 
top  of  the  basket.  "  Only  little  bricks !"  said  she,  dis- 
appointed. 

"  Do  not  you  like  little  bricks  V  said  Frank. 
-j'  "  I  do ;  but  from  your  great  joy  I  expected  something 
else — something  new.     You  know  we  have  had  little 
bricks  ever  since  the  month  after  I  first  came  here,  and 
that  is  now  above  a  year  ago." 

"  But  these  are  nmch  better  than  what  we  had  before ; 
look,  these  are  of  wood,  and  they  will  not  break ;  the 
corners  will  not  chip  off  as  our  plaster  of  Paris  bricks 
did ;  and  these  will  not  whiten  or  dirty  our  clothes,  or 
the  carpet,  or  the  furniture ;  besides,  we  can  build  a 
great  deal  better  with  these  than  with  our  old  bricks, 
because  these  are  heavier." 

I«  "  What  heavy  bricks !"  said  Mary,  taking  one  in  each 
hand ;  "  of  what  wood  are  they  made  V 

Frank  told  her,  as  his  father  had  told  him,  that  they 
are  made  of  a  wood  called  lignum  vitae ;  he  showed  her 
that  they  were  all  exactly  of  the  same  size ;  and  he  told 
her  that  his  father  had  made  some  of  them  himself,  to 
show  the  carpenter  how  to  finish  them  carefully  :  they 
were  all  made  in  the  proportion  of  real  bricks,  so  that 
the  houses  constructed  with  them  might  be  built  in  the 
same  manner  as  real  buildings  of  real  bricks. 

"  And  now,  Mary,  what  shall  we  do  first  1  I  have 
thought  of  a  great  many  things.  I  should  like  to  build 
one  of  the  London  bridges,  of  which  we  have  a  print ; 
or  Westminster  Abbey,  or  York  or  Lichfield  Cathedral, 
or  a  Roman  triumphal  arch,  or  the  ruins  of  Kenilworth 
Castle." 

"  Kenilworth  Castle  pray  let  us  begin  with,"  said 
Mary,  who  had  seen  the  print  of  Kenilworth,  at  which 
everybody  in  the  house  had  lately  been  looking. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank, "  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  lend 
14* 


162  FRANK. 

US  the  print  and  the  plan  of  Kenilworth  which  you  have 
in  the  great  portfolio  ?  We  will  take  a  great  deal  of  care 
of  them ;  and  we  can  build  our  castle  in  the  bow- win- 
dow, where  we  shall  be  quite  out  of  the  way,  and  how 
happy  we  shall  be  this  rainy  morning,  though  we  can- 
not go  out  I" 

His  mother  lent  the  print  and  the  plan  to  Frank,  de- 
siring him  at  the  same  time  to  take  care  not  to  spoil 
them.  She  said  that  he  might  consult  them  as  they  lay 
upon  the  table,  but  that  he  must  not  have  them  upon  the 
floor. 

As  soon  as  they  looked  at  the  plan  Mary  said  it  was 
too  difficult,  and  advised  him  to  begin  with  something 
that  would  be  easier  to  imitate  than  these  ruins.  But 
he  set  to  work  on  the  plan  of  Kenilworth.  He  built  up 
and  he  pulled  down,  and  he  measured  and  made  mis- 
takes, and  he  set  Mary  to  lay  out  one  part  while  he  was 
busy  at  another :  but  Mary  did  not  succeed  in  her  part, 
and  she  said  she  did  not  think  Frank's  tower  looked  like 
the  tower  in  the  print.  Frank  proved,  as  well  as  rule, 
and  compasses,  and  figures  could  prove  it,  that  all  that 
he  had  done  was  quite  right,  and  he  showed  Mary  where 
hers  was  wrong ;  however,  as  she  found  it  too  difficult, 
and  as  she  was  tired  of  not  succeeding,  he  good-natu- 
redly swept  away  his  tower,  and  said  he  would  do  any 
thing  else  which  Mary  might  like  better.  Mary  was 
pleased  by  his  good-nature,  and  he  helped  her  to  build 
her  favourite  transparent  round  tower,  which  is  easily 
constructed,  merely  by  leaving  the  thickness  of  one 
brick  between  each  that  is  laid  on.  This  tower  was 
raised  to  a  height  above  that  of  any  edifice  which  these 
little  architects  had  ever  before  erected ;  and  when  it 
was  accomplished,  Frank's  mother  turned  to  look  at  it, 
and  admired  it  as  much  as  could  be  reasonably  expected. 
Mary  next  assisted  Frank  in  building  his  triumphal  Ro- 
man arch,  which  he  endeavoured  to  form  by  making  one 
brick  project  beyond  another  till  they  met  over  the  open 
space,  so  that  the  inside  of  the  curve  or  arch  resembled 
a  flight  of  steps  upside  down ;  but,  before  it  could  be  fin- 
ished, bricks  were  wanting,  and  no  resource  remained 
but  to  pull  down  Mary's  tower.  To  this,  with  good-hu- 
mour, she  consented,  and  supplied  him  with  bricks  from 
its  ruins  so  fast,  that  he  said  that  she  was  now  an  ex- 
cellent straw-man. 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  Mary,  "  how  happy  we  always 


FRANK.  163 

are  now;  we  play  together  without  the  disputes  we 
used  to  have.  Do  you  remember  that  melancholy 
month,  when  we  were  separated  every  time  we  quar- 
relled? Oh  that  was  a  miserable  time  !" 

"  It  was  indeed,"  said  Frank ;  "  but  it  was  well  for  us, 
because  it  cured  us  at  last  of  disputing ;  and  now,  when 
you  feel  a  little  impatient,  you  stop  yourself  in  time, 
Mary,  my  dear." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary ;  "  and  Frank,  ray  dear,  whenever 
you  are  going  to  be  angry,  you  stop  yourself  too.  Now 
you  give  up  a  little  and  I  give  up  a  little." 

"  Hush !  my  dear,"  said  Frank,  "  for  I  am  just  going 
to  join  together  the  two  sides  of  my  arch,  you  see." 

"  Very  well  indeed,"  said  Mary,  who  had  remained 
quite  still  and  silent  until  the  last  brick  was  placed. 
"  And  now,  Frank,  you  will  acknowledge  that  I  have 
done  more  for  you  than  you  did  for  me  this  morning : 
because,  when  you  bid  me  hush,  I  hushed  ;  but  when  I 
was  in  my  great  difficulties,  trying  to  make  out  that 
plan  of  Kenilworth  Castle,  you  went  on  talking  so  fast 
to  me  that  I  could  not  mind  what  I  was  about,  and  that 
was  the  cause  of  all — no,  I  don't  say  all,  but  of  a  great 
many  of  the  mistakes  that  I  made." 

"  But  why  did  not  you  ask  me  not  to  speak,"  said 
Frank  ■?  "  How  could  I  imagine  that  you  did  not  like  to 
hear  me  talk  when  you  did  not  t^  me  so  ?" 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  angry  if  I  said  hush,"  re- 
plied Mary. 

"  But  that  was  foolish  of  you ;  I  am  sure  I  am  never 
angry  now,  am  I V  said  Frank. 

'  "  Not  often,"  replied  Mary ;  "  but  I  cannot  say  that 
you  are  never  angry,  my  dear  Frank." 

"  When  was  I  angry  last  1  I  do  not  remember,"  said 
Frank. 

*'  I  do,"  said  Mary ;  "  but  I  do  not  like  to  put  you  in 
mind  of  it." 

"  I  recollect,  Mary,  the  last  time  when  you  were  an- 
gry, and  that  was  yesterday,"  said  Frank. 

"  Oh  no,  I  was  not  angry,  I  was  only  a  little,  a  very 
little  impatient,"  said  Mary. 

"  Well,  but  if  I  allow  that  for  you,  Mary,"  said  Frank, 
"  you  must  allow  the  same  for  me.  You  must  not  say 
that  I  was  angry." 

"  Perhaps  I  should  not  say  angry  quite,  but  very  near 
being  angry,"  repUed  Mary. 


164  PRANK. 

"That  is  quite  a  different  affair,"  said  Frank;  "no 
matter  ||.pw  near  I  am  ;  if  I  command  myself  I  have  the 
greater  merit." 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  Mary ;  "  but  I  do  not  know  what 
good,  or  merit,  as  you  call  it,  there  is  in  being  very 
nearly  angry.     Now  let  us  ask  mamma." 

*'  Mamma,  which  do  you  think  is  most  apt  to  be  an- 
gry ]"  cried  they  both  together,  going  before  the  table 
at  which  she  was  writing;  their  eyes  sparkling  and  their 
cheeks  crimson. 

"  My  dear  children,"  said  Frank's  mother,  "  I  have 
heard  the  word  angry  too  often  within  these  last  five 
minutes.  Compare  yourselves  with  what  you  have 
been,  and  observe  as  much  as  you  please  whether  you 
improve  or  not ;  that  will  be  better  than  disputing  about 
which  is  the  most  or  the  least  apt  to  be  impatient — a 
point  which  neither  of  you  can  decide,  because  you  can- 
not see  into  each  other's  minds ;  but  you  may  both  ob- 
serve what  passes  in  your  own." 

"  Yes,  and  I  can  govern  my  own  too,"  said  Frank, 
proudly. 

"  And  so  can  I,"  said  Mary.  "  Well,  what  shall  we 
do  next,  Frank  ?" 

Frank  proposed  building,  with  what  remained  of  the 
bricks  of  Mary's  tower,  a  flight  of  winding  stairs,  like 
one  of  which  they  had  a  print.  At  this  they  worked 
very  happily ;  but  before  they  had  finished  it  a  carriage 
drove  to  the  door. 

"  Who  is  it  V  said  Frank  and  Mary,  looking  out  of 
the  window. 

It  was  a  lady  whom  they  had  never  before  seen,  wh6 
had  but  lately  come  to  live  in  the  neighbourhood.  Upon 
the  barouche-seat  of  the  carriage,  by  the  side  of  the 
coachman,  there  sat  a  little  boy,  who  looked  rather  taller 
and  older  than  Frank.  This  boy  did  not  get  down, 
though  it  rained.  He  sat  still,  kicking  his  heels  against 
the  foot-board,  and  playing  with  the  coachman's  whip, 
while  the  coachman  held  an  umbrella  over  his  head. 

After  the  lady  had  been  a  little  while  in  the  room, 
Frank,  watching  for  a  time  when  neither  she  nor  his 
mother  was  tjdking,  went  to  his  mother  and  whis- 
pered, 

"  There  is  a  little  boy  sitting  on  the  barouche-seat  of 
that  carriage :  it  is  raining  very  hard,  mamma,  shall  I 
go  and  ask  him  to  come  in  1" 


FRANK.  165 

•  The  lady  heard  what  Frank  whispered,  and  she  thank- 
ed him ;  but  said  "her  son  was  so  shy  that  she  often 
could  not  prevail  upon  him  to  come  into  a  room  where 
he  expected  to  see  strangers. 

"  And  besides,"  said  she,  "  Tom  is  so  fond  of  being 
with  the  coachman  and  the  horses,  and  of  having  a  whip 
in  his  hand,  making  believe  to  drive,  that  I  assure  you  he 
would  rather  sit  there  in  the  rain  from  morning  tiH 
night  than  do  any  thing  else  in  the  world ;  and  as  these 
are  his  holydays,  I  let  him  have  his  own  way,  and  do 
just  what  he  pleases.  You  know  boys,  ma'am,  are  kept 
strictly  enou  h  at  school  with  their  lessons  and  their 
masters." 

Soon  afterward  the  boy  touched  the  horses  with  the 
coachman's  whip,  which  made  one  of  them  start  and 
rear ;  upon  which  the  lady,  alarmed,  ran  to  the  window, 
beckoned  to  her  son,  and  desired  him  to  get  down  and 
come  in  immediately.  Very  unwillingly  he  obeyed. 
He  then  came  into  the  room,  looking  ashamed  or  sulky, 
and  setting  his  back  against  one  side  of  the  chimney- 
piece,  he  scarcely  answered  any  thing  that  was  said  to 
him. 

However,  when  something  to  eat  was  brought  into 
the  room,  he  recovered  a  little.  Frank's  mother  desired 
him  to  help  the  stranger  to  whatever  he  liked;  and 
Frank  did  so  without  giving  him  the  trouble  to  say 
more  than  "  yes"  or  "  no."  After  they  had  finished  eat- 
ing, the  boy  let  Frank  lead  him  away  to  the  bow-window 
where  Mary  and  he  had  been  playing ;  and  Frank,  point- 
ing to  his  little  bricks,  asked  if  he  had  any  such  as 
those  ■? 

"  Not  I,"  answered  Tom  ;  "  at  school  we  have  other 
fish  to  fry." 

"  Fish  to  fry !"  thought  Mary ;  "  what  can  that  mean  V 

"  But  in  the  holydays,"  said  Frank,  "  should  not  you 
like  such  bricks  V 

"Not  I,"  said  Tom;  "they're  baby  bricks,  fit  for 
girl's  play." 

Frank,  colouring  a  little,  said  his  father  thought  they 
were  very  useful,  and  he  began  to  explain  the  uses  that 
could  be  made  of  them.  But  the  boy,  knotting  a  whip 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  said  he  knew  nothing  of 
such  things,  and  he  did  not  like  them. 

"Perhaps  you  like  prints,"  said  Mary;  "here  are 
some  very  pretty  prints  in  this  portfolio ;  will  you  look 
at  them  1" 


166  PRANX. 

"  No,"  Tom  said ;  he  thought  prints  wer6  great  bores. 

"  Great  bores  /"  repeated  Mary. 

"  Yes,  especially  in  the  holydays,"  said  Tom,  "  horrid 
bores." 

"  What  6an  he  mean  by  horrid  bores  T"  said  Mary  to 
Frank. 

"  Hush !  my  dear,"  said  Frank. 

"  Not  know  what  a  bore  means ;  why  what  quizzes 
you  would  be  thought  at  school !" 

Mary,  ashamed  to  ask  what  was  meant  by  quizzes,  or 
to  confess  that  she  did  not  know,  was  silent  for  some 
moments,  but  then  said,  "  I  shall  never  go  to  school,  1 
beheve,  but  Frank  will,  some  time  or  other." 

"  Do  you  like  going  to  school  T'  said  Frank  to  the 
boy. 

"  No,"  said  Tom ;  "  who  does  V 

"  Why  don't  you  like  iti"  said  Frank. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom.  turning  half  away ;  '*  be- 
cause I  don't." 

Another  silence  :  but  Mary,  who  was  curious  to  hear 
more,  asked  Tom  how  old  he  was  when  he  first  went  to 
school  1 

"  About  nine  years  old,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  how  old  are  you  now  V 

"  I  shall  be  eleven  next  October,"  said  Tom. 

"And  Frank  will  be  ten  next  July,"  said  Mary;  "and 
I  suppose  he  will  go  to  school  then." 

"  Then  let  him  take  care  he  gets  the  Latin  grammar 
well  first,  or  he'll  get  finely  flogged." 

Mary  and  Frank  looked  at  each  other.  Frank  looked 
very  serious,  and  Mary  rather  dismal. 

"  How  glad  you  must  be  when  you  come  home  at  the 
holydays !"  said  Frank. 

"  Only  I  have  no  horse  yet,"  said  Tom. 

"  Have  you  books  at  your  home  V  said  Frank. 

"  No,"  replied  Tom,  looking  very  grave  in  his  turn. 

"  Then,"  said  Mary,  "  we  can  lend  you  some  of  ours." 

She  and  Frank  ran  to  their  little  bookcase,  beckon- 
ing him  to  follow ;  but  as  he  did  not  stir,  they  brought 
several  of  what  they  thought  their  most  entertaining 
hooks,  and  spread  them  on  the  table  before  him,  asking 
him  if  he  had  read  this,  or  that,  and  expressing  some 
surprise  when  he  answered  "  No"  to  every  book  they 
showed  him,  or  of  which  they  read  the  title.  After 
every  "  No,"  Mary  repeated — "  Not  read  that !  Frank 


FRANK.  167 

has  read  that."  And  Frank  always  added,  "We  will 
lend  it  to  you  if  you  wish  for  it."  To  which  Tom  made 
no  answer  till  a  pile  of  these  offered  voiumes  was  built 
up  opposite  to  him,  and  Mary  prepared  to  wrap  them  up 
for  him  in  brown  paper.  He  then  looked  frightened, 
and  pushing  them  from  him,  muttered,  "  Thank  you  for 
nothing,  said  the  gallipot." 

Mary,  with  the  brown  paper  half  unrolled,  and  Frank, 
with  the  packthread  in  his  hand,  stood  surprised  and 
puzzled.  Mary  at  last  repeated  the  words,  "  said  the 
gallipot.*^ 

*'  There's  no  talking  to  you — you  don't  understand  a 
word  one  says,"  said  Tom ;  "  but  that's  not  surprising 
for  a  girl;  and  boys  that  have  never  been  at  school 
know  no  better." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  do  not  like  to  have  these 
books  1"  said  Frank. 

•*  No,  I  have  enough  of  books  at  school,"  replied  Tom. 
.  "  Then  we  will  put  ours  by  again,"  said  Mary ;  and 
she  did  so. 

"  What  do  you  read  at  school  1"  asked  Frank. 

"  Latin,"  said  Tom. 

"  What,  Latin  books  T"  said  Frank.      .  ^ 

"  I  am  in  Virgil,"  said  Tom. 

Frank  looked  up  at  him  with  a  respectful  air.  "  And 
what  else  V  said  he,  timidly. 

"Virgil's  enough,"  replied  Tom;  "I  read  but  one 
book  at  a  time." 

"  But  what  English  books  do  you  read  1" 

*'  English ! — our  class  don't  read  English.  We  read 
nothing  but  Latin." 

"  Do  you  read  nothing  but  Latin  ?"  said  Frank  and 
Mary,  looking  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  astonishment 
and  admiration ;  "  nothing  but  Latin !" 

"  And  enough,  and  too  much  too,"  said  Tom,  "  as 
you'll  know,"  added  he,  nodding  at  Frank,  "  next  year, 
when  you  go  to  school." 

Frank  and  Mary  continued  .silent,  pondering  upon  this 
for  some  minutes.  Frank  began  to  think  again  very  se- 
riously about  school  and  the  Latin  grammar,  and  about 
reading  nothing  but  Latin.  Mary  was  tired  of  the  si- 
lence of  her  two  companions,  and  began  to  listen  to 
what  the  lady  and  Frank's  mamma  were  saying.  They 
were  talking  of  some  new  book  or  story  called  "  The 
Vampire." 


1 68  t RANK 

*'  After  all,  ma'am,"  said  the  lady,  "  what  shocking 
stories  tliey  do  tell  of  those  vampire  bats  sucking  the 
blood  of  people  when  they  are  asleep!  But,"  added 
she,  looking  at  Mary  and  observing  that  she  was  listen- 
ing, "  little  pitchers  have  long  ears ;  one  should  not 
mention  such  things  before  children.  But  that  little 
lady  of  yours  need  not  be  frightened  about  the  vampire, 
as  so  many  silly  children  have  been  by  this  tale ;  be- 
cause I  am  clear,  you  know,  ma'am,  there's  not  any  truth 
in  these  stories." 

"  Yes,  so  I  think,"  said  Mary,  looking  and  speaking 
so  composedly  that  the  lady  could  not  help  smiling  at 
her  "  quiet  decision,"  as  she  called  it,  and  added,  "  One 
would  imagine  she  knew  a  great  deal  about  vampire 
bats.     What  do  you  know  about  them,  my  dear  ?" 

"  I  only  know — I  know  only  what  Frank  told  me  ; — 
what  you  read  to  me,  Frank,  in  this  book,"  said  Mary, 
taking  up  one  of  the  little  volumes  which  lay  upon  the 
table.  "  Here  it  is — I  know  the  place — I  have  it. 
Frank,  will  you  read  it  V  said  she,  putting  the  book  into 
his  hand  and  pointing  to  the  passage.  Frank  looked  as 
if  he  waited  to  know  whether  the  lady  wished  to  hear 
or  not. 

"  Oh  yes,  pray  do  read  it.  Master  Frank,"  said  the 
lady  ;  "  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  to  hear  it  of  all  things." 

Frank  began  with  the  description  of  this  bat,  and  then 
read  as  follows : — 

" '  In  the  autumn  of  1810,  I  had  for  a  short  time  a  liv- 
ing vampire  bat,  of  a  large  size,  from  the  East  Indies ; 
and,  contrary  to  what  has  been  asserted,  found  it  a  most 
inoffensive,  harmless,  entertaining  creature ;  it  refused 
animal  food,  but  fed  plentifully  on  succulent'  (or  nour- 
ishing) '  fruits,  preferring  figs  and  pears ;  it  licked  the 
hand  that  presented  them,  seeming  delighted  with  the 
caresses  of  the  person  who  fed  it,  playing  with  them  in 
the  manner  of  a  young  kitten ;  it  was  fond  of  white 
wine,  of  which  it  took  half  a  glass  at  a  time,  lapping  it 
like  a  cat.  This  had  an  evident  effect  on  its  spirits ;  it 
then  became  extremely  frolicsome  and  diverting,  but 
never  once  attempted  to  bite.  It  slept  suspended,  with 
its  head  downwards,  wrapping  its  satin-like  wings  round 
its  body  in  the  form  of  a  mantle.  I  several  times  per- 
mitted it  to  enclose  the  end  of  my  finger  in  its  mouth, 
for  the  purpose  of  obsen'ing  if  it  would  attempt  to  draw 
blood ;  but  not  the  slightest  indication'  (or  sign) '  of  such 


PRANKt  (fS9 

intention  appeared  ;  and  I  have  strong  reason  to  doubt 
the  stories  related  so  greatly  to  its  disadvantage.'  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  when  Frank,  finished 
reading.    "A  charming  anecdote,  and  charmingly  read." 

Mary  looked  delighted  as  the  lady  said  these  words, 
but  Frank  looked  down,  and  seemed  ashamed ;  perhaps 
he  had  some  recollection  of  the  flattering  lady,  who, 
when  he  was  a  very  little  boy,  had  first  praised  him  for 
his  reading,  and  laughed  at  him  afterward. 

"  1  am  sure,"  continued  the  lady,  "  I  wish  my  Tom, 
there,  could  read  half  a  quarter  as  well ;  and  he  is,  I 
dare  say,  a  year  older  than  Master  Frank.  Tom  stum- 
bles at  every  word  of  four  syllables,  even  in  the  com- 
mon newspaper.  Really,  ma'am,  English  reading,  and 
writing,  and  spelling,  altogether,  are  shamefully  neg- 
lected at  his  school  here  in  the  country  :  I  must  speak 
about  it." 

"  If  you  speak  ever  so  much,  mother,"  cried  Tom, 
suddenly  bursting  out  with  a  loud  voice,  "  the  masters 
cannot  do  it  now,  because  of  getting  me  on  with  Latin. 
English  and  them  things  should  be  taught  at  home,  they 
say,  before  one  goes  to  school,  for  there's  no  time  after, 
when  one's  getting  from  form  to  form,  and  fitting  for 
Westminster  or  Eton  !  and  then  we  must  get  on  to  Ox- 
ford or  Cambridge,"  added  he,  nodding  his  head  and 
slashing  his  whip. 

Frank  and  Mary  held  their  breath  from  astonishment 
at  this  speech,  and  at  the  manner  in  which  it  was  spo- 
ken. Tom's  mother  seemed  a  little  ashamed  of  the 
manner,  and  perhaps  to  turn  off  attention  from  her  son, 
she  addressed  herself  to  Mary.  "  Pray,  my  dear  little 
lady,"  said  she,  "  what  is  that  entertaining  book  in 
which  you  found  that  charming  vampire  bat  ?" 

Mary  said  she  believed  it  was  an  account  of  the  curi- 
osities in  a  museum.  The  little  book  had  a  long  title, 
but  Frank  could  write  it. 

Frank  wrote  it,  and  took  care  to  spell  every  word 
rightly,  and  some  were  rather  difficult. 
!    "  The  Catalogue  of  Bullock's  Museum,"  said  the  lady, 
reading  the  title.    "  Tom,  you  have  seen  Bullock's  Mu- 
seum." 

'  "  Yes,"  said  Tom, "  and  might  have  got  the  catalogue 
at  the  door  if  I'd  wanted  it." 

"  Oh,  Frank !"  cried  Mary,  "  he  has  seen  Bullock's 
Museum.    Do  you  think  he  has  seen  the  bird  of  Para- 
H  15 


170  FRANK. 

disc,  and  the  beautiful  little  hummingbird,  which  feeds 
its  young  with  honey  from  its  own  tongue  V 

"  And  the  great  snake,  the  boa,"  said  Frank, "  did  you 
see  the  boa  ?" 

To  these  and  many  other  questions,  which  Frank  and 
Mary  asked,  as  it  must  be  owned,  very  rapidly,  Tom 
made  no  answer.  He  was  quite  dumb,  not  even  vouch- 
safing his  usual  monosyllables,  yes  or  no.  Frank  and^ 
Mary  began  to  describe  the  animals  for  which  they  in- 
quired, but  he  turned  away  abruptly. 

"  I  don't  remember  any  thing  about  it,  but  that  we 
paid  a  shilling  at  the  door,"  said  he ;  and  he  added,  mut- 
tering, as  he  went  off  to  the  window,  "  I  went  to  Bul- 
lock's for  my  diversion,  and  not  to  get  them  by  heart. 
I  wonder  when  they'll  bring  the  carriage  to  the  door." 

"  Oh  Tom !  that  is  very  silly — this  is  quite  rude,"  said 
his  mother;  "but  schoolboys  do  grow  such  shy,  strange 
creatures  sometimes  ;  the  masters  at  those  schools 
should  pay  more  attention  to  their  manners." 

The  lady  endeavoured  to  make  amends  for  her  son's 
rudeness  by  her  admiration  of  Frank  and  Mary.  Frank 
at  first  had  been  ashamed  of  her  praises  of  his  reading ; 
but  when  he  heard  her  regret  so  bitterly  that  her  son 
could  not  read  half  a  quarter  so  well,  he  pitied  her,  and 
believed  in  her  sincerity  ;  and  when  she  now  rose,  and 
came  to  admire  his  triumphal  arch,  he  could  not  help 
being  pleased  with  her,  and  with  himself,  and  he  could 
not  refrain  from  showing  her  a  Uttle  more  of  his  knowl- 
edge. He  eisked  if  she  knew  which  was  the  key-stone, 
jmd  which  were  the  butments  of  the  arch. 

"  How  glad  I  should  be,"  said  she,  "  to  know  all 
these  things,  and  to  be  able  to  teach  them  to  my  poor 
Tom !" 

"  Ma'am,"  cried  little  Mary,  "  Frank  could  tell  them 
all  to  him,  as  he  told  them  to  me,  and  a  great  deal  more. 
Frank  knows — " 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  said  Frank, "  don't  tell  all  I  know." 

"  Oh,  pray  let  her,  pray  do,"  said  the  lady, 

"  Mary,"  said  her  mother,  "  put  by  these  prints." 

"  Yes,  mamma ;  but  first,  in  this  print,  ma'am,"  per- 
sisted Mary,  returning  to  the  lady,  who  seemed  to  desire 
so  much  to  be  taught,  "  here  are  a  great  number  of 
things  you  would  like  to  see,  and  that  Frank  knows: 
here  are  all  these  pillars — all  the  orders  of  architecture." 

Frank  could  resist  no  longer,  and  quite  forgetting  his 


PRANK.  171 

modesty  and  his  fear  of  flattery,  and  without  observing 
his  mother's  grave  look,  he  went  on  with  "  Tuscan,  Do- 
ric, Ionic,  Corinthian,  Composite."  Encouraged  by 
Mary's  sympathy,  and  by  the  lady's  exclamations  of  de- 
light, he  showed  off  his  whole  stock  of  learning  between 
the  time  when  the  bell  had  been  rung  for  the  carriage 
and  when  it  arrived  at  the  door. 

"  Here's  Jack,  mother  :  here's  our  carriage,  ma'am," 
cried  Tom ;  and,  as  he  passed,  whether  on  purpose  or 
by  accident  cannot  be  known,  he  threw  down,  with  one 
stroke  of  his  whip,  Frank's  triumphal  arch. 

The  moment  they  were  out  of  the  room,  scarcely  was 
the  door  shut,  when  Mary  and  Frank,  both  at  once,  be- 
gan to  express  their  opinions  in  no  gentle  terras  of  Mas- 
ter Tom. 

"  What  a  very  disagreeable  creature ;  what  a  shock- 
ingly stupid,  ignorant  boy,"  said  Frank. 

"  What  a  very  ill-humoured,  horribly  ill-mannered 
boy,"  said  Mary. 

"  Gently,  gently,"  said  his  mother, "  lest  I  should  think 
you  horribly  ill-natured." 

"  But,  mamma,  can  you  like  a  boy,"  said  Mary,  "  who 
is  neither  sensible,  nor  well-bred,  nor  good-natured,  nor 
good-tempered  V 

"  No,  my  dear ;  did  I  say  that  I  liked  him  V 

"  Then  I  do  not  understand  you,  mamma.  You  are 
just  of  the  same  opinion  as  we  are,  and  yet — " 

"  And  yet  I  do  not  express  it  so  violently." 

"  I  acknowledge  I  was  wrong  to  say  he  was  horribly 
ill-natured.  But  I  cannot  help  thinking  he  is  shockingly 
stupid.  My  dear  mamma,  only  think  of  his  not  remem- 
bering the  hummingbird,  or  the  vampire  bat,  or  any  one 
thing  he  saw  at  the  museum,"  said  Mary. 

"  And  think  of  his  not  having  read  any  one  of  all  the 
books  we  have  read,"  said  Frank,  "  and  not  wishing  for 
any  of  them  when  we  offered  to  lend  them." 

"  Yes,  mamma,  only  consider  that  he  is  a  year  older 
than  Frank." 

"  Almost,"  said  Frank. 

"And  half  a  head  taller,"  said  Mary;  "yet  Frank 
knows  so  much  more  than  he  does,  and  reads  so  much 
better :  even  his  mother  said  so,  indeed,  mamma." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  Mary." 

♦'  But  you  do  not  seem  glad  of  it,  mamma ;  I  do  not 
quite  understand  why." 

H2 


172  PRANK. 

"  My  dear,  1  am  glad  that  Frank  knows  how  to  read, 
and  to  read  well  for  a  boy  of  his  age ;  but  I  need  not  be 
glad  to  find  that  another  boy  reads  ill." 

"No,"  said  Frank,  "that  would  be  ill-natured;  be- 
sides, his  poor  mother  is  so  sorry  for  it." 

"There  was  some  truth,  was  there  not,  mamma," 
continued  Mary,  "  in  what  the  boy  said,  though  he  said 
it  very  disagreeably,  that  his  mother  ought  to  have 
taught  him  to  read  well,  and  write,  and  spell,  before  this 
time." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  mother,"  said 
Frank,  "  for  having  taught  me  all  these  things ;  particu- 
larly if  what  that  boy  said  be  true,  that  there  is  no  time 
at  school  for  learning  such  things  afterward.  Is  this 
true,  mamma  r' 

"  It  may  be  true  in  this  instance ;  but  we  must  not 
judge  of  all  schools  by  one,  nor  of  any  school  by  what 
one  boy  says  of  it." 

"  Whenever  Frank  goes  to  school,  mamma,  his  school- 
fellows and  everybody  will  see  that  he  has  been  taught 
something — a  great  deal  too,"  said  Mary. 

"  Something,  but  not  a  great  deal,"  said  his  mother. 
**  What  appears  to  you  a  great  deal,  compared  with  an 
unfortunate  boy  who  has  not  been  taught  any  thing, 
will  appear  very  little,  compared  with  others  who  have 
learned  a  great  deal." 

"  That  is  true,  I  suppose,"  said  Mary. 

"  That  is  true,  certainly,"  said  Frank. 

"  But,  mamma,  do  not  you  think,"  resumed  he,  "  that 
Tom's  mother  will  directly  set  about  and  try  to  teach 
him  all  those  things  which  I  taught  her — I  mean  all  the 
things  she  said  I  knew  so  much  better  than  her  son, 
and  that  she  would  give  the  world  if  he  knew  as  well  as 
I  do? — Why  do  you  smile,  mamma]" 

A  sudden  thought,  a  sudden  light  seemed  to  come 
across  Frank's  mind  at  this  moment ;  his  countenance 
changed,  his  look  of  self-satisfaction  vanished ;  and  in 
a  tone  of  mortification  and  vexation  he  exclaimed, 
"  Perhaps  that  woman  was  laughing  at  me  all  the  while ! 
O  mother,  O  Mary,  what  a  fool  I  have  been !" 

Frank  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Frank,"  said  Mary,  going  to  comfort 
him,  "  I  am  very  sorry  I  asked  you  to  tell  her  all  you 
knew.  But,  mamma,  it  is  that  foolish  mother's  fault  if 
she  laughs  at  Frank.    Why  shoiild  he  blame  himself? 


FRANK.  173 

Was  not  he  very  good  to  tell  her  what  would  be  of  so 
much  use  to  her  stupid  Tom  ]  Was  not  Frank  good- 
natured,  mammal" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Frank,  "  I  did  not  do  it  from  good- 
nature to  the  boy,  I  forgot  him ;  I  wanted  to  show  his 
mother  how  much  I  knew.  Now  I  am  sure  that  woman 
is  laughing  at  me,  and  that  boy  too  is,  I  dare  say,  laugh- 
ing at  me  at  this  instant ;  that  is  the  worst  of  it." 

"  No,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  do  not  think  that  is  the 
worst  of  it.  It  is  of  little  consequence  to  you  what  that 
lady  or  that  boy  thinks  of  you,  since  she  is,  as  you  say, 
but  a  foolish  woman,  and  the  boy  but  a  stupid  boy ;  and 
you  may  perhaps  never  see  them  again  in  your  life." 

"  I  hope  that  I  never  may,"  said  Frank.  "  Mamma,  I 
am  provoked  with  myself.  I  thought  after  what  hap- 
pened, mamma,  about  the  flattering  lady,  long  ago,  I  was 
cured  for  life  of  loving  flattery." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  his  mother,  "  that  was  too  much 
to  expect  from  one  lesson.  You  will  find  this  love  of 
flattery  returning  upon  you  as  long  as  you  have  any 
vanity." 

"  And  how  long  shall  I  have  any  vanity,  do  you  think, 
ma'am  V 

"  As  long  as  you  are  a  human  creature,  I  am  afraid, 
my  dear,  you  will  have  some  vanity ;  but  watch  over  it, 
and  you  will  conquer  it,  so  far  as  to  prevent  it  from 
making  a  fool  of  you." 

"  I  will  try  to  conquer  it,"  said  PVank.  "  But,  mam- 
ma," continued  he,  after  a  pause,  during  which  he 
seemed  to  be  thinking  very  deeply,  "  if  I  really  see  that 
I  am  better,  or  know  more,  than  other  people — I  mean 
than  other  boys  of  my  age — how  can  I  help  being  pleas- 
ed with  myself?    And  is  this  to  be  called  vanity  V 

"  That  depends  upon  whether  you  are  or  are  not  too 
much  pleased  with  yourself,  and  whether  you  do  or  do 
not  overvalue  yourself.  Even  that  boy,  Mary,  whom 
you  think  shockingly  stupid,  may  be  superior  to  Frank  in 
some  things." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Mary,  doubtfully. 

"  Certainly,  in  Latin,"  said  Frank ;  "  for  he  said  he 
was  reading  Virgil,  and  you  know  that  I  have  not  yet 
learned  the  Latin  grammar.  I  will  try  to  improve  myself 
in  Latin  before  I  go  to  school;  because,  if  even  this  boy 
knows  so  much  more  than  I  do,  I  suppose  I  shall  find  al- 
most every  boy  at  school  knows  more  of  Latin  than  I  do  " 
15* 


174  FRANK.  ^ 

"  That  is  very  likely  my  dear,"  said  his  mother. 

'*  Well  then,"  said  FranJc,  "  there  is  no  danger  of  my 
being  vain,  mamma,  when  I  go  to  school,  and  see  other 
boys  cleverer  than  myself." 

"  True,  my  dear  ;  that  is  one  great  advantage  of  go- 
mg  to  a  public  school ;  you  will  live  with  a  number  of 
boys  of  your  own  age;  you  will  be  compared  with 
them,  and  you  will  then  find  what  you  really  do  know 
and  what  you  do  not  know.  We  are  never  so  vain  of 
that  which  we  are  certain  we  know  well  as  that  of 
which  we  are  doubtful." 

"  I  have  observed  that  of  myself,  mamma,"  said 
Frank.  "  Even  this  morning  I  did  not  feel  vain  of  my 
reading,  because  I  was  quite  sure  I  could  read,  and  I 
did  not  want  to  show  that  off." 

"  When  you  go  to  school,"  said  Mary,  "  take  care  to 
talk  always  of  the  things  you  know  quite  well,  and  of 
those  things  only,  that  you  may  not  be  laughed  at." 

"  And,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  Frank,"  said  his 
mother,  "  even  of  the  things  you  know,  todk  only  to 
those  who  want  to  hear  of  them,  and  then  your  com- 
panions will  like  you." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  be  disliked  by  my  schoolr 
fellows,"  said  Frank. 

"  Disliked !  Oh,  it  is  impossible  that  they  should  dis- 
like Frank,  he  is  so  good-natured,"  said  Mary.  "  Mamr 
ma,  I  hope  he  will  not  go  to  school  this  great  while. 
When  will  he  go,  mamma  f 

"  In  about  a  year  and  a  half,"  said  his  mother. 

"Then  we  need  not  think  about  it  now,"  said  Mary; 
"  a  year  and  a  half  is  such  an  immense  time !" 

"  In  that  year  and  a  half  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time," 
said  Frank,  "  to  learn  the  Latin  grammar,  that  I  may 
not  be  finely  flogged,  as  the  boy  said,  when  I  go  to 
school ;  and  in  a  year  and  a  half  I  shall  have  time 
enough  to  cure  myself  of  my  vanity,  mamma,  and  of  all 
my  faults." 

"  Mamma,  except  vanity,  what  are  Frank's  faults?" 
said  Mary.     "  I  did  not  know  he  had  any." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  must  have  some  ;  but,  except  vanity, 
what  faults  have  I,  mamma  1  Will  you  tell  them  to  me 
all?" 

"  Cure  that  one  first,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother ;  "  and 
then  I  will  try  and  find  another  for  you." 

**  Jf  you  can,  ma'am,"  said  Mary  ;  "  in  the  meantime 


PRANK.  175 

I  will  put  by  his  triumphal  arch ;  and  let  us  go  out,  now 
it  has  done  raining,  and  let  us  have  a  good  race." 

"  Ay,"  said  Frank,  "  for  do  you  remember  that  boy 
asked  whether  I  could  run,  mamma.  He  said  that  he 
never  knew  a  boy  bred  up  at  home  that  could  run- 
Now,  I  dare  to  say  that  I  can  run  as  well  as  he  can, 
and" — better  he  would  have  said,  but  checking  himself, 
he  added,  "  I  will  not  say  what  I  was  going  to  say,  lest 
some  people  should  call  it  vanity,  but  it  is  very  true  not- 
withstanding." 


Ik  pursuance  of  his  good  resolution  to  learn  the  Latin 
grammar  before  he  went  to  school,  Frank  said  he  would 
get  up  at  six  o'clock  the  next  morning  to  learn  his  les- 
son. Unluckily,  he  overslept  himself,  and  dreamed  that 
he  was  getting  up  and  dressing,  till  he  was  wakened  by 
his  cuckoo  clock  striking  nine.  It  was  now,  as  he 
thought,  too  late  to  do  much,  but  he  dressed  himself  as 
fast  as  he  could,  and  he  learned  the  first  declension,  and 
said  it  that  day  to  his  father  without  missing  one  word. 
The  next  day  and  many  succeeding  days  he  learned  an 
example  of  one  of  the  declensions,  which  he  said  with 
equal  success ;  and  his  father  having  explained  to  him 
the  three  degrees  of  comparison,  he  went  through  with 
them  superlatively  well. 

"But  oh'.  Mary,"  said  Frank  "what  comes  next! 
All  these  verbs!  And,"  said  he,  sighing,  "  when  I  come 
to  this  what  shall  I  do  M  will  read  it  to  you,  Mary,  and 
understand  it  if  you  can. 

"  '  The  subjunctive  mood  differs  not  in  form  from  the 
potential,  but  is  always  rendered  into  English  as  if  it 
were  the  indicative;  it  is  subjoined  to  another  verb 
going  before  it  in  the  sentence,  and  has  therefore  some 
conjunction  or  definite  word  joined  to  it;  as,  eram  miser 
cum  amarem,  I  was  a  wretch  when  I  loved.'  " 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  interrupting  himself,  "  he  should 
«ay,  '  I  was  a  wretch  when  I  learned  the  Latin  gram- 
mar.' " 

"  I  do  not  understand  this  grammar  at  all,"  said  Mary. 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  understand,  indeed,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  Latin  grammar  was  so  diflicult," 
said  Mary.    "  Very  different  from  English  grammar,  at 
least  as  papa  taught  it  to  us." 
..  "  That  was  easy  work,  indeed,"  said  Frank :  "  after 


176  FRAJTK. 

my  father  had  once  explained  to  us  what  is  meant  by  a 
verb,  and  a  noun,  and  a  pronoun,  and  a  noun  substantive, 
and  a  noun  adjective,  I  remember  that  I  understood 
them  all,  and  found  out  the  verb,  noun,  and  adjective  in 
the  first  sentence  he  spoke." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  "  I  remember  the  first  sentence 
was,  '  Frank,  shut  the  green  door.^  " 

"  Ay,  fine  easy  work,"  said  Frank  ;  "  but  listen  to  this. 

"  '  Of  verbs  ending  in  o,  some  are  actives  transitive, 
when  the  action  of  it  passes  on  the  noun  following.'  " 

Mary  groaned. 

"  AU  you  can  do  is  to  learn  it  by  rote  without  under- 
standing it,"  said  she. 

"  But  it  is  so  difficult  to  learn  by  heart  what  one  does 
not  understand,"  said  Frank,  "  especially  as  I  have  never 
been  used  to  it." 

"  It  seems  to  me  very  difficult  even  to  read  this  gram- 
mar," said  Mary,  looking  at  its  pale,  ill-printed  pages. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  it  really  is ;  with  all  these  italics  too, 
and  all  these  strange  words,  thereto,  lehooveth,  deponent, 
transitive,  words  that  are  never  met  with  anywhere 
but  in  the  Latin  grammar.  I  assure  you,  Mary,  I  find  it 
difficult,  even  I,  who  read  so  easily  in  general." 

Frank's  lesson  was  not  well  learned  this  day ;  the 
next  it  was  worse,  and  the  next  worse  again.  The 
grammar,  as  he  said,  grew  more  and  more  difficult;  or, 
as  his  father  said,  he  took  less  and  less  pains,  and  his 
father  was  not  pleased  with  him.  Then  Frank  told  his 
mother  that  he  began  to  dislike  the  Latin  grammar  ex- 
ceedingly, and  that  he  did  not  know  why  he  should  go 
on  learning  it. 

"  Do  you  forget,  my  dear  Frank,"  said  Mary,  "  what 
that  boy  said — '  You  will  be  flogged  when  you  go  to 
school  if  you  do  not  know  the  Latin  grammar  V  " 

"Is  that  true,  mammal"  said  Frank;  "but  here  is 
papa,  just  come  in  from  riding;  I  will  ask  him,  because 
he  has  been  at  school  himself,  and  he  knows." 

His  father  assured  him  that  at  the  school  to  which 
he  went,  flogging  had  been  the  constant  punishment  for 
those  who  did  not  know  their  Latin  lessons ;  and  he 
believed,  he  said,  that  this  continued  to  be  the  case  at 
most  schools  in  England. 

"  In  most  schools,  papa,  tut  not  in  all ;  then  1  hope 
you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  send  me  to  a  school  where  I 
shall  not  be  flogged." 


FRANK.  177 

"  But  even  if  you  are  not  flogged,  you  will  be  pun- 
ished in  some  other  way,  if  you  do  not  learn  the  Latin 
grammar." 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "  in  general  I  understand  the 
use  of  the  things  you  desire  me  to  learn,  but  I  do  not 
know  the  use  of  this  Latin  grammar." 

"  Nor  can  I  explain  it  to  you  till  you  have  learned  more 
of  the  language,"  answered  his  father.  "  But  I  assure 
you  that  it  is  necessary  to  know  it,  that  you  may  under- 
stand Latin." 

"  And  why  must  I  understand  Latin,  papa  ?" 

"You  do  not  know  enough  yet,  my  dear  Frank," 
answered  his  father,  "to  understand  all  the  reasons; 
but  some  of  them  I  can  explain  to  you — many  enter- 
taining and  instructive  books  are  written  in  that  lan- 
guage." 

"  But,  papa,"  interrupted  Frank,  "  are  not  there  trans- 
lations of  those  books  ?" 

"  Of  some  there  are,  but  there  is  much  greater  pleas- 
ure in  reading  them  in  the  original  language  in  which 
they  were  written." 

"  But  suppose  I  should  live  without  that  pleasure, 
papa,"  said  Frank ;  "  many  men  do,  do  not  they  1  and 
almost  all  women.  1  think  I  could  go  on  without  it, 
though  I  am  a  man." 

"  Perhaps,  though  you  are  a  man,  as  you  say,  Frank, 
that  you  could,  if  you  were  not  a  gentleman ;  but  it  is 
thought  a  necessary  part  of  a  gentleman's  education 
that  he  should  understand  Latin." 

Frank  sighed. 

"  And  Greek  too,  in  these  countries,"  continued  his 
father. 

Frank  sighed  again.    "  Cannot  that  be  altered, papal" 

"  Certainly  not  by  you,  or  by  your  sighs,  Frank,"  said 
his  father.  "  In  our  country  a  man  cannot  be  of  any  of 
what  are  called  the  liberal  professions ;  he  cailnot  be 
a  lawyer,  or  a  physician,  or  a  clergyman;  and  now, 
indeed,  he  cannot  well  be  an  officer  either  in  the  array 
or  navy,  without  understanding  Latin.  The  thing  is  so, 
my  boy ;  make  the  best  of  your  time  now,  and  when 
you  grow  up  to  be  a  man  you  will  feel  the  advantage 
of  what  you  now  learn." 

"  But  it  will  be  a  great  while  before  I  shall  be  a  man,'* 
said  Frank.  "  I  need  not  learn  the  Latin  grammar 
yet." 

H3 


178  FRANK. 

"  You  will  very  soon  be  a  schoolboy,  and  then  yon 
•will  feel  the  advantage  of  having  learned  it." 

"  Remember !  Remember !"  said  Mary,  in  a  tone  of 
warning. 

"  Yes,  I  remember ;  but  it  is  very  disagreeable,  Mary, 
to  learn  any  thing  only  to  avoid  a  flogging." 

"  And  very  disagreeable  the  other  way,"  said  Mary, 
"  very  disagreeable,  I  should  think,  to  have  a  flogging." 
"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "  there  is  one  other  question  I 
should  like  to  ask  if  it  would  not  be  wrong." 

"  It  cannot  be  wrong  for  you,  Frank,  to  ask  me  any 
question  ;  if  I  do  not  think  proper  to  answer  it  I  shall 
tell  you  so ;  only  make  haste,  because  I  cannot  stand 
here  talking  or  listening  to  you,  my  dear,  all  day." 

"  Only  one  minute  more,  papa.  Why  cannot  you  be 
so  very  good,  papa,  as  to  teach  me  Latin  yourself ;  if 
you  would,  I  should  work  hard  at  the  Latin  grammar, 
and  I  should  take  more  pains  than  I  would  to  avoid  a 
flogging.  You  need  not  smile  and  shake  your  head, 
papa ;  only  try  me,  you  will  see  that  I  shall  keep  my 
promise." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that  you  would  endeavonr  to  keep  it, 
Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  but  I  must  send  you  to  school. 
1  cannot  tell  you  all  my  reasons,  but  one  of  them  you 
shall  know ;  I  am  obliged,  next  year,  to  leave  England, 
on  some  public  business." 

"  How  very  unlucky  for  me  that  public  business  is  l'* 
said  Frank. 

"  Perhaps  not  unlucky  for  you,  Frank.  Even  if  I 
were  not  engaged  in  this  business,  I  think  I  should  send 
you  to  school.  You  have  no  brother  at  home,  no  com- 
panion of  your  own  age." 

Mary  looked  up  earnestly.  "  Oh,  papa,  I  am  only  a 
very  little  younger." 

"  But  you  are  a  girl,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  and  a  very 
obliging,  gentle  little  girl ;  he  would  grow  effeminate  if 
he  lived  only  with  gentle  girls  and  women.  He  must 
be  roughed  about  among  boys,  or  he  will  never  be  a 
man,  and  able  to  live  artiong  men.  He  is  too  much  an 
object  of  our  constant  attention  at  home,  and  he  would 
learn  to  think  himself  of  too  much  consequence." 

Frank  said  he  would  not  think  himself  of  too  much 
consequence.  He  assured  his  father  he  would  cure  him- 
self of  vanity,  if  he  would  but  be  so  kind  as  not  to  send 
him  to  school,  or  at  least  to  send  him  only  during  the 


FRANK.  179 

time  he  was  obliged  to  be  absent  from  England.  Frank 
could  not  conceive,  he  said,  what  harm  it  could  do  him 
to  be  an  object  of  his  father's  and  mother's  constant  at- 
tention. He  observed  that  he  had  heard  everybody 
say  (even  that  foolish  mother)  how  fortunate  it  was  for 
him  that  he  had  parents  who  had  taught  him  so  much» 
and  who  had  given  so  much  attention  to  him. 

His  father  replied  that  it  was  impossible  that  Frank 
could  judge  upon  this  point  what  was  best  for  himself; 
therefore,  after  having  given  him  his  reasons,  as  far  as 
Frank  could  luiderstand  them,  he  said  he  must  submit  to 
the  decision  of  his  parents.  Frank  was  sorry  for  it, 
but  he  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  it;  and  Frank 
thanked  his  father  for  having  stayed  to  talk  to  him,  and 
to  explain  his  reasons. 

"  Now  that  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  necessary  that  1 
should  learn  Latin,  I  shall  set  about  it  in  earnest ;  and 
I  am  sure  that  I  shall  do  it,"  said  Frank. 

His  father,  who  was  going  out  of  the  room  as  Frank 
said  this,  looked  back,  and  observed,  that  even  whett 
boys  are  convinced  that  a  thing  is  necessary  to  be  done, 
they  have  not  always  resolution  to  do  it  when  it  is  dis- 
agreeable. Frank  thought  that  he  was  an  exception  to 
this  general  rule. 

Upon  the  strength  of  his  desire  to  show  that  he  had 
sufficient  resolution,  Frank  got  through  the  pronouns 
and  their  declensions ;  also,  with  the  assistance  of  his 
mother's  repeatedly  hearing  him,  he  accomplished  learn- 
ing an  example  of  the  first  conjugation  of  verbs  active 
in  0.  In  the  second  conjugation  he  found  some  tenses 
so  easy,  that  he  thought  he  could  say  them  without 
taking  pains  to  learn  them.  The  consequence  of  his 
not  taking  pains  was,  that  when  he  went  to  his  father 
to  say  this  lesson,  the  book  was  returned  to  him  three 
times.  His  resolution  weakened  by  degrees.  Though 
convinced  that  he  must  at  some  time  learn  the  Latin 
grammar,  he  did  not  see  why  he  should  learn  it  before 
he  went  to  school.  In  short,  the  idea  of  the  flogging  at 
some  months  distance,  or  the  shame  that  he  might  then 
be  made  to  feel,  was  not  sufficient  to  make  him  resist 
the  present  pleasure  of  running  out  to  play  with  Mary, 
or  building  his  house,  or  reading  some  entertaining  story. 
Every  morning  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  away  from  his 
Latin  grammar,  yet  his  haste  seemed  to  make  him  slow. 
He  did  not  fix  his  attention  upon  what  he  was  doing ; 


180  FRAITK. 

that  he  was  mnch  longer  about  it  than  was  neces- 
sary. 

What  he  could  have  learned  perfectly  well  by  heart 
in  ten  minutes,  he  seldom  knew  tolerably  at  the  end  of 
an  hour.  Even  though  his  poor  mother,  during  that 
hour,  complied  at  least  ten  times  with  his  request,  of — 

"  Will  you  let  me  say  it  now,  mamma,"  or,  "  this 
once  more,  mother ;"  or,  "  I  am  sure  I  know  it  now, 
mamma ;  this  time,  I  am  quite  certain  I  have  it,  ma'am." 

No  human  patience,  not  even  the  patience  of  a 
mother,  could  bear  this  every  day.  She  made  a  rule, 
that  in  future  she  would  not  hear  him  repeat  his  lesson 
to  her  more  than  three  times  any  one  morning.  Then 
he  went  to  Mary  to  beg  of  her  to  hear  him.  She  held 
the  book  in  her  hand  as  often  as  he  pleased,  but  she 
was  not  exact  enough  to  be  of  much  use.  She  did  not 
attend  to  the  ending  of  the  verbs  while  he  said  them ; 
and,  indeed,  he  gabbled  them  sonietimes  so  fast,  that  a 
more  experienced  ear  than  Mary's  might  have  been  puz- 
zled. He  became  very  careless.  Mary  one  day  said  to 
him — 

"  My  dear  Frank,  I  know  you  will  come  to  disgrace 
if  you  do  not  take  care." 

5lary  was  right ;  Frank's  day  of  disgrace  came  at  last. 

It  was  May-day ;  it  was  a  fine  morning.  Frank  ran 
out  early  to  his  garden  with  Mary,  to  gather  branches 
and  flowers  to  ornament  a  bower,  in  which  they  intend- 
ed to  ask  their  father  and  mother  to  drink  tea  in  the 
evening. 

"But,  Frank,  be  sure  that  you  have  your  Latin 
lesson." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Frank,  "  I  learned  it  last  night,  and 
I  shall  have  time  to  look  it  over  before  I  say  it  to  papa 
this  morning." 

"  When  will  you  look  it  over  ?"  said  Mary. 

"  When  we  go  in,"  said  Frank ;  "  it  is  not  seven 
o'clock  yet." 

But  time  passed  quickly  while  they  were  gathering 
flowers  and  dressing  their  arbour.  It  was  nine  o'clock, 
and  the  breakfast-bell  rang  before  they  went  in.  Frank 
had  not  a  moment's  time  to  look  over  his  verb. 

It  was  esse,  to  be,  indicative  mood,  present  tense.     Frank 
said  over  to  himself,  as  he  went  along  the  passage  to 
his  father's  room,  Sing,  sum  es  est :  plur.  sumus  estis 
but  for  sunt  he  was  obliged  to  look  in  the  book. 


i^ttAKK.  181 

tte  felt  sure  that  he  had  not  his  lesson  perfectly  well) 
and  he  was  unwilling  to  open  the  door  of  his  father's 
room.  He  was  glad  when  he  found  that  his  father  was 
gone  down  stairs.  A  gentleman  had  come  to  breakfast 
with  him.  "  How  lucky,"  thought  Frank.  No,  it  was 
most  unfortunate  in  the  end  for  him ;  because  this  sense 
of  escape  made  him  more  careless. 

After  breakfast,  his  father  went  out  to  ride  with  the 
friend  who  had  breakfasted  with  him ;  and  his  last 
Words  to  Frank,  as  he  left  the  breakfast-room,  were^ 
"  Frank,  I  shall  have  time  to  hear  you  say  your  Latin 
verb  when  we  return — when  I  am  dressing  before 
dinner.     Take  care  that  you  learn  it  perfectly." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  he  repUed,  and  he  intended  to  go  and 
learn  it  directly ;  he  only  just  stayed  to  look  at  his  father 
and  the  gentleman  mounting  their  horses,  and  to  see 
them  go  through  the  gate.  Then  he  went  to  his 
mother's  room,  where  Mary  was  soon  settled  at  het 
work;  and  he  stood  with  his  Latin  grammar  in  his 
hand.  But,  though  his  eyes  were  upon  the  book,  and 
though  his  lips  pronounced 

Preterimperfect :  eram,  eras,  erat ;  eramus,  eratis,  eranU 
his  thoughts  were  upon  a  little  horse,  with  a  long  tail, 
which  he  hoped  his  father  would  buy  for  him.  Theit 
recollecting  himself,  he  went  on  to — 

Preterperj'ect :  fui,  fuisti,fuit ;  fuimus,fuistis,fueruni 
velfuere. 

But,  between  this  and  the  preterpluperfect,  came  a 
vision  of  a   saddle  and  bridle.     The   idea  of  various 

Eleasant  rides  he  might  take  with  his  father  disturbed 
im  many  times  in  his  progress  through  the  potential 
ttiood. 

Mary  had  completely  finished  all  her  morning  lessons 
before  he  came  to  the  participle  future  in  rus. 

His  mother  was  going  out  to  plant  some  flowers  in 
her  garden.  Before  she  went,  she  offered  to  hear  Frank 
say  his  lesson.  He  tried  to  say  it,  but  he  made  half  a 
dozen  mistakes ;  he  was  sure  he  should  have  it,  how* 
ever,  before  she  returned. 

Mary  would  not  go  out  without  him,  and  took  up  a 
book  to  amuse  herself  till  he  should  be  ready. 

He  went  on,  dividing  his  attention  between  his  gram- 
mar, which  lay  upon  a  chair,  and  Mary,  who  sat  at  a 
table  at  some  distance. 

^^  Imperative  mood, present  tense:  sis,  eSf  esto,  I  cannot 
16 


182  PRANK. 

conceive  what  is  the  matter  with  me  this  morning,  that 
I  camiot  get  this  by  heart.  Mary,  what's  that  beautiful 
book  you  have  there  V 

"  Cowper's  Poems,"  said  Mary.  "  I  am  looking  at 
the  prints." 

"  Plural,  simvs,  sitis,  este,  estote.  What  is  this  ?"  said 
he,  looking  over  her.  "  *  Verses,  supposed  to  have  been 
written  by  Alexander  Selkirk,  during  his  solitary  abode 
in  the  island.'  How  very  extraordinary  1  Do  you  know, 
my  dear  Mary,  I  was  just  thinking  that  I  would  play  at 
Robinson  Crusoe  when  I  went  out." 

"  Well,  make  haste,  then,  and  come  out,"  said  Mary., 

"  Simus,  siiis,  este,  estote,  sint,  sunto.  But  let  me  look 
at  Robinson  Crusoe's  verses,"  said  Frank ;  and  he  read 
them. 

"  I'm  the  monarch  of  all  I  snrrey. 
My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute ; 
From  the  centre,  all  round  to  the  sea, 
I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute." 

"My  dear  Frank,  do  get  your  lesson,"  interrupted 
Mary. 

"  Well,  I  am  getting  it,"  said  Frank,  running  back  to 
his  book. 

"  Potential  mood:  sim,  sis,  sit;  simus,  siiis,  sitU.^  Then 
again  to  the  verses  : — 

"  I  am  out  of  humanity's  reach  ; 
I  must  finish  my  journey  alone  ; 
Never  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech ; 
I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own." 

"  Preterimperfect :  essem,  esses,  esset ;  essemus,  esseits, 
essent.  What  is  that,  Mary,  about  the  death  of  a  bull- 
finch, killed  by  a  rat  V 

"  And  Bully's  cage,  supported,  stood, 
On  props  of  smoothest  shaven  wood, 
Large  built,  and  latticed  well." 

As  Mary  was  curious  to  know  what  happened  to 
Bully,  she  let  him  read  on.  And  full  a  quarter  of  an 
liour  was  spent  upon  the  dream  that  disturbed  poor 
Bully's  rest.  Nor  was  it  till  he  came  to  something 
about  the  bacchanalians,  which  they  neither  of  them 
understood,  that  she  begged  him  again  to  go  to  his  lesson. 

"  Preterplvperfect,^''  said  he,  running  back  to  the  chair, 
and  glancing  his  eye  upon  the  book  ;  *^  fuissem,  fuisses, 
fuisset ;  /uisse7miSf^fuisselis,fuissunt." 


PRANK.  183 

He  did  not  look  long  enough  to  see  that  he  should 
have  said  fuissent. 

"  Now  I  have  it  really  quite  perfect,"  concluded  he, 
"  and  I  will  say  it  the  moment  my  mother  comes  in. 
What  is  this  about  a  parrot  1" 

He  turned  over  the  book  from  one  thing  to  another, 
reading  bits  here  and  there.  "  Oh,  Mary !  look  at  these 
lines  On  the  receipt  of  my  mother'' s  picture.^^ 

"  But  what  is  this  in  prose  V  said  Mary,  peeping  be- 
tween the  leaves  in  another  place,  while  Frank  read  on 
about  "  My  Mother's  Picture." 

"  What  is  this,  Frank,  about  three  hares ;  Puss,  Tiney, 
and  Bess  ?" 

Frank  turned  to  it,  and  began  to  read  it  with  great  de- 
light. He  had  just  come  to  the  introduction  of  a  hare 
to  a  spaniel  that  had  never  seen  a  spaniel,  and  of  a 
spaniel  to  a  hare  that  had  never  seen  a  hare,  when  his 
mother  returned.  She  had  come  in  on  purpose  to  hear 
him  say  his  lesson.  But  his  head  was  so  full  of  the  hares, 
the  parrot,  the  bullfinch,  and  *'  My  Mother's  Picture," 
that  he  could  not  get  beyond  the  imperative  mood. 
Ashamed,  he  took  back  the  book,  which  his  mother  re- 
turned to  him. 

*'  What  can  you  have  been  doing,  Frank,  all  this  time  V 
said  she. 

He  told  her  what  they  had  been  reading ;  and  indeed 
had  a  great  mind  to  read  the  lines  about  "  My  Mother" 
over  again  to  her.  He  assured  her  that  if  she  would 
ordy  just  let  him  read  them  it  would  put  them  out  of  his 
head,  and  then  he  should  be  able  to  mind  better  his 
verb.  She  refused,  however,  to  listen  to  his  reading, 
and  advised  him  to  go  away  from  these  books  and  from 
Mary,  and  to  learn  his  verb  in  his  own  room,  where 
there  was  nothing  to  distract  his  attention. 

"  No,  mamma,  I  think  I  had  better  learn  it  in  the 
roonrwith  you,  because  you  know  it  is  right  to  be  able 
to  do  things  in  the  room  with  other  people." 

"  If  you  can,  Frank,"  said  his  mother.  She  desired 
Mary  to  go  out.  Mary  went  out ;  and  his  mother  sat 
down  to  write  a  letter,  telling  Frank  that  when  she  had 
finished  it  she  would  hear  his  lesson  again.  He  looked 
it  over,  and  in  a  few  minutes  his  book  came  across  the 
paper  on  which  she  was  writing. 

"  Be  so  good,  mamma,  as  to  hear  me  now." 

"  Frank,  you  cannot  have  learned  it  well  in  this  time. 


184  FRANK. 

Look  it  over  again ;  remember,  this  is  the  third  and  last 
time  of  my  hearing  it  for  you." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  but  I  am  sure  I  have  it  perfectly." 

No  such  thing :  he  could  not  recollect  the  future  tense. 
He  grew  very  red ;  he  was  much  provoked  with  himself 
and  with  his  grammar.  He  looked  out  of  the  window 
to  see  what  Mary  was  doing.  She  was  lingering  near 
the  house,  waiting  for  him.  Soon  he  knocked  at  the 
window,  and  beckoned  to  her,  and  begged  her  to  come 
in  and  hear  him  say  his  verb  once  more.  The  future 
tense  was  right  this  time;  but  he  could  not  get  through 
the  imperative  mood  without  many  mistakes. 

"  Well,  well,  Mary,"  cried  he,  "  that  does  not  signify ; 
I  have  it  perfect  all  but  that,  and  I  shall  remember  it,  I 
am  sure,  when  I  have  been  out  and  refreshed  my 
memory." 

"  You  had  better  look  it  over  once  more,"  argued 
Mary. 

His  mother  gave  him  the  same  advice. 

"  And  I  will  stay  and  hear  you  again,"  said  Mary. 

No ;  Frank  now  declared  he  was  sure  that  saying  it 
over  and  over  so  often  to  his  mother  and  Mary  only 
puxzled  him,  and  that  he  could  not  learn  it  any  better 
till  cifter  he  had  been  out.  As  Mary  was  also  eager  to 
go  to  finish  their  bower,  she  did  not  urge  her  good  ad- 
vice farther,  and  out  they  went. 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  said  Frank,  "  I  will  tell  you  my 
grand  scheme,  which  has  been  running  in  my  head  all 
the  morning.  We  must  remove  your  bower  to  my  Rob- 
inson Crusoe's  island." 

Mary  in  vain  objected  that  it  would  take  a  great  deal 
of  time  to  remove  the  bower,  and  that  she  thought  it 
was  better  where  it  was,  in  her  garden,  than  in  a  desert 
island.  Frank's  heart  was  fixed  upon  this  scheme. 
He  assured  her  that  it  would  soon  be  accomplished  if 
she  would  help  him,  and  work  hard.  She  helped  him, 
and  they  worked  hard ;  and  in  two  hours  time  the 
branches  of  hawthorn  were  dragged  to  Robinson  Cru- 
soe's island.  The  new  bower  was  completed.  Frank 
then  returned  to  the  house,  intending  to  look  over  his 
verb  again.  But  a  new  project  occurred;  he  must  have 
Robinson  Crusoe's  parrot  in  Robinson  Crusoe's  bower. 

With  some  difficulty,  and  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
spent  in  entreaty,  he  prevailed  on  the  housekeeper  to 
lend  him  her  parrot,  and  to  let  him  carry  Poll,  in  its 


PRANK.  185 

'cage,  out  to  his  desert  island.  And  when,  after  many 
times  changing  its  place,  Poll  was  fixed  in  the  best  sit- 
uation in  the  bower,  Frank  wanted  to  teach  her  to  cry 
Robinson  Crusoe,  while  Poll  would  say  nothing  but 
"  Good  boy,  Frank ;"  a  phrase  which  Frank  had  formerly 
taught  her,  with  the  help  of  many  lumps  of  sugar. 
Many  more  were  now  spent  in  trying  to  make  her 
change  "  Good  boy,  Frank,''''  into  "  Robinson  Crusoe^r—in 
■'vain. 

"  Poll  will  say  it  to-morrow,  perhaps,"  said  Mary. 

But  Frank  persisted  that  she  must  say  it  to-day,  be- 
cause it  would  surprise  papa  and  mamma,  and  delight 
them  so  much  when  they  came  to  drink  tea  here,  in 
Robinson  Crusoe's  island. 

"  There !  there  !"  exclaimed  Mary ;  "  did  you  hear 
that?" 

"  What  1"  said  Frank. 

"  The  dressing-bell." 

*'  Impossible,  my  dear ;  it  was  only  a  bell  in  your 
ears." 

Mary  ran  home  to  inquire  whether  she  was  right  or 
wrong,  and  presently  returned  with  the  assurance  that 
she  was  quite  right.  It  was  the  dressing-bell ;  and  she 
earnestly  begged  Frank  would  come  in  now  and  look 
over  his  lesson. 

"  This  instant ;  only  let  me  stay  till  Poll  has  said  her 
lesson.  She  is  just  going  to  say  it,  I  know  by  the  look 
of  her  head,  all  on  one  side." 

Poll  sat  mute ;  Frank  presented  his  last  bit  of  sugar, 
and  commanded  her  to  say  Robinson  Crusoe ;  she  an- 
swered with  her  tiresome  "  Good  boy,  Frank."  He 
suddenly  withdrew  the  sugar,  and  she,  pursuing  it  with 
her  beak,  sharply  bit  his  finger.  Provoked  with  the 
parrot,  and  not  well  pleased  with  himself,  he  slowly 
followed  Mary  homeward.  He  was  longer  than  usual 
dressing,  because  the  finger  which  Poll  had  bitten  was 
disabled,  so  that  he  could  hardly  button  his  clothes ; 
and,  when  he  came  to  look  over  his  yerb,  the  pain  dis- 
tracted his  attention — at  least,  so  Mary  supposed,  for  he 
could  not  say  it  when  she  heard  him. 

"  You  always  make  the  same  mistake,"  said  she. 
"  You  say  essunt  instead  of  essentJ*'' 

"  Well,  let  me  go  on  ;  you  put  me  out,  Mary.  Don't 
tell  me  next  time — don't  tell  me." 

She  did  not  tell  him,  and  he  could  not  go  on.    He 
16* 


186  FRANK. 

desired  to  be  told ;  and — Oh,  how  hard  it  is  to  satisfy  a 
person  who  is  not  satisfied  with  himself! — he  then  de- 
clared he  was  just  going  to  say  it,  if  she  had  not  told 
him ;  and  the  next  lime  she  corrected  a  mistake  that 
he  made  in  the  participles,  he  was  sure  she  was  wrong, 
and  told  her  so  rather  roughly. 

"  Nay,  Frank,  when  I  have  the  book  before  my  eyes : 
do  you  think  1  cannot  read  ?"  said  Mary. 

He  snatched  the  book  from  her  hand,  and  saw  that 
he  was  wrong.  He  could  not  go  on :  in  a  passion,  he 
threw  himself  on  the  ground,  and  rolled  on  the  carpet, 
declaring  he  could  not  and  would  not  learn  this  horribly 
difficult  verb. 

But  at  this  instant  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  was  heard. 
Frank  started  up,  forgot  his  passion  and  the  parrot's 
bite,  seized  the  grammar,  which  he  had  thrown  far  from 
him,  and  would  have  given  up  parrot,  and  arbour,  and 
island,  and  all,  for  five  minutes  more  time. 

"  Perhaps,"  thought  he,  "  my  father  may  not  hear  me 
before  dinner;"  but  his  father's  voice  called,  "  Frank!" 
He  went  into  his  father's  room,  and  Mary  waited  in  the 
passage ;  she  was  afraid  for  him. 

He  stayed  much  longer  than  usual. 

At  last,  when  he  came  out,  Mary  saw  by  his  face  that 
something  was  very  much  the  matter. 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  "  I  knew  the  day  of  disgrace  would 
come." 

He  passed  by  her  quickly,  and,  sitting  down  upon  the 
stairs,  burst  out  crying — 

"  Day  of  disgrace,  indeed !  Oh,  Mary !  Mary !  my 
father  is  very — very — very  much — " 

Displeased  was  the  word  he  could  not  say,  but  Mary 
understood  it  too  well. 

"  What  did  he  say,  Frank,  my  dear  1" 

*'  He  said  that  I  am  spoiled — that  I  am  grown  idle  and 
good  for  nothing:  and  it  is  very  true  : — and  he  will  not 
teach  me  any  more.  I  am  to  go  to  school  directly,  on 
Monday.     Oh,  Mary,  to  leave  home  in  disgrace  !" 

Frank  sobbed  as  if  his  heart  would  break,  and  Mary 
stood  quite  silent.  The  dinner-bell  rang,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  go  to  dinner,  and  there  was  to  be  that 
stranger  gentleman.  Frank  suddenly  rubbed  away 
his  tears,  and  Mary,  standing  on  the  step  above  him, 
smoothed  down  his  hair  on  his  forehead.  Frank  took 
bis  place  at  table,  and,  as  he  happened  to  sit  with  his 


FRANK.  iSff 

back  to  the  light,  his  red  eyebrows  were  not  much  seen, 
and  the  stranger  did  not  immediately  perceive  that  he 
was  in  wo  or  disgrace. 

"  Young  gentleman,"  said  he,  "  you  shortened  our 
ride  this  morning ;  and,  I  can  tell  you,  there  are  very 
few  fathers  who  would  shorten  their  morning's  ride  for 
the  sake  of  hearing  their  son's  Latin  lesson." 

Frank,  in  much  confusion,  ate  his  bread  as  fast  as  he 
could,  without  attempting  to  speak. 

"  It  is  very  well  for  boys,"  continued  the  gentleman, 
who  was  helping  the  soup,  and  who  had  not  yet  attended 
to  Frank's  countenance,  "  very  happy,  indeed,  for  boys 
who  can  be  got  through  the  Latin  grammar  without  my 
assistance.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  my  name  is 
Btrck.'' 

Still  there  was  silence.  Frank  could  not  speak,  but 
Mary  answered  for  him,  "  No,  sir." 

"  And,  perhaps,"  continued  he,  "  you  are  such  happy 
children,  that  you  do  not  even  know  why  the  name  of 
Birch  should  make  you  tremble." 

The  gentleman  paused,  for  now,  for  the  first  time,  he 
observed  Frank's  countenance,  and  he  saw  that  he  was 
struggling  hard  to  prevent  himself  from  crying.  He 
was  a  good-natured  man,  and  immediately  he  changed 
the  subject  of  his  conversation;  and,  no  longer  advert- 
ing to  Frank,  talked  to  his  father  and  mother. 

Colonel  Birch,  for  that  was  the  gentleman's  name, 
was  an  old  friend  of  his  father's :  he  had  just  returned 
from  the  army  on  the  Continent;  and  he  told  many 
entertaining  stories  of  the  siege  of  Badajos,  and  of  the 
battle  of  Waterloo ;  but  nothing  could  entertain  Frank. 
He  watched  his  father's  countenance,  and  scarcely 
heard  or  understood  any  thing  that  was  said,  till  Colo- 
nel Birch  related  an  anecdote  of  a  dog  he  had  with  him, 
which  had  saved  his  master's  life  when  he  had  been  left, 
wounded  and  helpless,  lying  among  the  dead,  after  a 
battle. 

Frank  remembered  just  such  another  story,  and  he 
began  to  tell  it. 

"  Oh,  papa,  you  know  the  dog — ^  But  his  father 
did  not  listen  to  him ;  and  Frank,  recollecting  that  he 
was  in  disgrace,  stopped  short,  and,  to  hide  his  confu- 
sion, leaned  down  upon  the  colonel's  dog.  The  good 
creature  stood  quite  still,  though  Frank's  arm  round  his 


isfe 


FRANK. 


neck  was  rather  inconvenient  to  him,  and  though  he 
felt  Frank's  tears  falling  upon  his  head. 

Frank,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  himself  again 
sufficiently  to  let  his  face  appear  above  the  tablecloth, 
began  to  feed  the  dog  with  all  that  remained  on  his 
plate.  This,  with  good  management,  was  an  employ- 
ment that  lasted  till  dinner  ended;  and  the  very  moment 
after  grace  was  said,  Frank  slid  down  from  his  chair 
and  made  his  escape  out  of  the  room,  Mary  following 
him  quickly. 

She  sat  quite  silent  beside  him  for  a  little  while ;  but 
then,  starting  up,  she  ran  for  his  Latin  grammar,  and 
brought  it  to  him,  as  he  sat  with  his  hands  covering  his 
face,  and  with  his  elbows  leaning  on  his  knees. 

"  Frank  !  my  dear  Frank,  sitting  this  way  will  do  us 
no  good,"  said  Mary.  "  Look  up ;  had  not  you  better 
learn  it  now  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear  Mary,  even  that  will  do  us  no  good 
now.     Papa  will  never  hear  it  again — he  said  so." 

"  Did  he  say  so  ?     You  must  have  made  a  mistake." 

"  No,  Mary,  it  is  too  true." 

"  Tell  me  the  very  words  he  said." 

*'  He  said, '  Frank,  I  will  never  hear  you  say  that  verb 
again.  Frank,  I  warned  you,  and  now — '  it  is  all  over !" 
Here  Frank's  voice  failed. 

"  Well,  do  not  tell  me  any  more.  I  am  sorry  I  asked 
you,"  said  Mary.  "  What  shall  we  do  ■?  What  can  we 
do  ]" 

"  Nothing  can  be  done  now,"  replied  Frank,  resuming 
his  former  posture. 

"  Oh !  miserable  May-day  !"  said  Mary.  "  So  happy, 
too,  as  we  expected  to  be  this  evening.  And  our  ar- 
bour, Frank !  There,"  continued  she,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  "  there  I  see  papa  and  mamma,  and  the 
good-natured  man,  and  the  dog,  and  all,  going  out  to 
walk  ;  and  the  birds  singing  so  happily,  and  the  flowers 
so  sweet  and  gay ;  everybody  and  every  thing  happy 
but  ourselves!" 

"  And  I  keep  you  here,  poor  Mary  I  Oh !  go  out — run 
after  them,  and  leave  me,"  said  Frank. 

But  Mary  would  not  leave  him  in  his  day  of  disgrace. 

At  sunset  they  went  out  to  their  island,  and  to  their 
bower,  to  bring  home  poor  Poll,  who,  as  Frank  recol- 
lected, must  be  hungry,  and  should  not  be  left  there  to 
suffer  for  a  fault  of  his      Poll  was  sitting  silent  and 


FRANK.  rlilf 

moping,  but  the  moment  she  saw  Frank,  she  screamed 
out  something  like  "  Robinson  !  Robinson  Crusoe .'" 

"  Ah !  all  in  vain  now  !" 

The  cage  was  lifted  down  from  its  happy  place,  and 
the  garlands  in  the  bower  were  left  to  fade  unseen. 
Poll  was  carried  home  and  restored  to  the  housekeeper. 

"  So  soon  !  how  is  this,  my  dear  Master  Frank  V  the 
good  old  housekeeper  began — "  What ;  running  away 
from  me  without  a  word!  What  is  the  reason  of  this  V 

Mary,  turning  back,  shook  her  head  sorrowfully,  and 
put  her  finger  on  her  lips.  The  good  housekeeper  was 
too  discreet  to  inquire  farther ;  but,  without  speaking, 
she  made  with  her  tongue  against  the  roof  of  her  mouth 
certain  well-known  sounds  of  sorrow,  surprise,  and 
commiseration.  Then  following  Frank  and  Mary,  she 
called  after  them  to  tell  them  that  tea  was  ready,  and 
that  their  mother  had  asked  where  they  were. 

It  was  dusk  when  they  went  into  the  drawing-room, 
and  Frank's  father  and  mother  and  Colonel  Birch  were 
so  eagerly  engaged  in  conversation,  that  their  entrance 
at  the  green  door  was  unnoticed.  They  sat  down  at 
their  own  little  table,  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  room, 
and  began  to  eat  their  bread  and  milk,  making  no  noise 
with  jug,  cup,  or  plate.  And  in  this  their  unusual  silence 
at  their  end  of  the  room,  J'rank  and  Mary  heard  all  that 
was  said  at  the  other  end.  The  conversation,  as  it  was 
about  themselves,  was  interesting,  though  they  did  not 
understand  it  all. 

Colonel  Birch  was  speaking  when  they  first  came  in, 
but  what  he  said  was  never  known  clearly.  It  was  lost 
during  the  getting  upon  their  chairs,  and  pouring  out  the 
milk.  Their  mother's  voice  they  heard  distinctly, 
though  she  sat  with  her  back  towards  them,  and  spoke 
in  a  very  gentle  tone. 

"  I  am  convinced,"  said  she,  "  that  going  to  a  public 
school  will  be  of  use  to  him ;  but  I  wish  only  that  he 
should  be  better  prepared  before  he  leaves  home." 

"  My  dear  madam,"  replied  Colonel  Birch,  "  take  my 
word  for  it,  he  will  never  learn  the  Latin  grammar  till 
he  goes  to  school,  and  if  he  do  not  learn  it  early  he  will 
never  know  it  well.  I  am,  or  at  least  1  have  been,  half 
my  life  a  sad  example  of  this  truth.  From  mistaken  kind- 
ness of  my  poor  mother,  God  bless  and  forgive  her,  1 
was  allowed  to  be  idle  at  home  when  I  ought  to  have 
been  working  at  school :  the  end  of  it  was,  that  I  never 


190  PRANK. 

learned  Latin  at  home,  was  disgraced  at  college,  lost 
many  opportunities  of  getting  forward  in  life,  went  into 
the  army,  because  it  was  the  only  profession  I  could  go 
into;  thought  I  could  do  without  Latin  and  Greek; 
found  I  was  mistaken;  was  obhged  to  learn  late  what  I 
would  not  learn  early — in  short,  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
much  I  have  suffered,  nor  what  difficulty  and  toil  it  has 
been  to  me,  since  I  became  a  man,  to  make  up  for  what 
1  might  have  been  made  to  learn  with  ease  in  the  first 
ten  or  twelve  years  of  my  life.  Oh  how  often  I  have 
wished  that  my  Latin  grammar  had  been  well  flogged 
into  me !" 

"  But  why  flogged  into  you  V  said  Frank's  mother. 

"  Because,  my  dear  madam,  nothing  else  you  see  will 
do.  I  was  wiUing  to  make  an  exception  in  favour  of 
home-teaching  in  the  hands  of  my  friend  here ;  but 
when  he,  even  he,  a  father  comme  il  y  en  a  peu,  with  a 
son  comme  il  rCy  en  a  point,  confesses  that  he  cannot  get 
through  the  conjugation  of  the  verb  to  be  without  the 
aid  of  Birch,  I  say,  the  sooner  you  send  the  boy  to  school 
the  better." 

Frank  and  Mary  were  very  sorry  they  could  not  make 
out  the  meaning  of  the  French  words  in  what  Colonel 
Birch  had  just  said,  but  they  went  on  listening  to  what 
their  father  answered. 

"  As  to  the  Latin  verb,  that  is  but  a  trifle  in  itself,  and 
it  appears  to  me  of  little  consequence  whether  Frank 
learn  the  Latin  grammar  this  year  or  next ;  but  it  is  of 
the  greatest  consequence  to  my  boy  that  he  should 
early  learn  habits  of  attention  and  application.  If  he 
have  not  resolution  enough  to  apply  to  what  is  disa- 
greeable as  well  as  to  what  is  entertaining  to  him,  he 
will  never  be  a  great  or  good  man." 

"  True,"  said  Colonel  Birch  ;  "  and  many  clever  boys 
are  spoiled  for  want  of  their  parents  knowing  this  truth. 
A  man  must  work  hard  to  be  any  thing  in  this  v?orld. 
If  a  boy  is  fondled  and  praised  at  home,  and  cried  up  for 
every  pretty  thing  he  says  and  does,  he  will  never  be 
able  to  go  through  the  rough  of  life  afterward  among 
his  fellows,  either  at  school  or  in  the  world.  However, 
your  boy,  certainly,  is  not  spoiled  yet;  he  does  not 
seem  to  me  at  all  conceited." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "  has  lately 
become  a  little  vain." 

*'  Not  a  httle  vain,  not  a  little,"  said  his  father. 


^  PRANK.  191 

<■'"  Mary,"  said  Frank,  in  a  low  voice  across  their  sup- 
per-table, "  papa  does  not  know  that  1  am  here.  Do  you 
think  I  ought  to  go  out  of  the  room  1" 

"  No,  my  dear,  why  should  you  1  Papa  would  say  the 
same  if  he  knew  you  were  here." 

During  this  interruption,  part  of  the  tujnversation  at 
the  tea-table  was  lost;  but  when  Frank's  conscience 
again  permitted  him  to  attend,  he  heard  his  father  say — 

"  It  was  very  well,  while  Frank  was  a  little  child,  to 
indulge  him  in  reading  only  entertaining  things,  to  give 
him  a  taste  for  literature.  This  point  is  gained ;  Frank 
has  more  knowledge  than  boys  usually  have  at  his  age, 
and  is,  I  confess,  a  very  promising,  clever  boy." 

"  Father,"  cried  Frank,  coming  forward,  "  I  believe 
you  do  not  know  that  I  am  here  1" 

"  An  honest  boy  is  here,"  said  his  father,  putting  his 
hand  upon  Frank's  head ;  "  and  we  will  not  spoil  him." 

"  No,  it  would  be  a  sin  such  a  boy  should  be  spoiled," 
said  Colonel  Birch,  stroking  Frank's  head. 

Frank  slipped  from  under  his  hand,  and  ran  out  of  the 
room.  Mary  would  have  followed  him,  but  he  shut  the 
green  door  too  quicklj ,  and  bolted  it  on  the  other  side. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  reappeared,  with  his  Latin 
grammar  in  one  hand,  and  a  lighted  bougie  in  the  other ; 
and  marching  up  to  Colonel  Birch  with  a  firm  step  and 
head  erect — 

"  Colonel  Birch,"  said  he,  "  will  you  be  so  good  as  to 
hear  me  say  this  lesson ;  and  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
come  with  me  into  another  room,  because  my  father 
said  that  he  would  never  hear  me  say  this  verb  again." 

Colonel  Birch  complied  with  his  request,  and,  return- 
ing presently,  reported  that  Frank  had  gone  through  the 
verb  without  missing  one  word.  Mary  clapped  her 
hands :  and  Frank's  father  was  pleased  at  seeing  that 
he  had  conquered  this  the  first  difficulty  he  had  ever  had. 

"  I  think,  papa,"  resumed  Frank,  who  now  felt  that 
he  might  again  join  in  the  conversation,  "  I  think,  papa, 
.  that  a  great  deal  of  what  you  said  about  me  is  quite  true, 
especially  what  you  said  about  my  idleness ;  and  1  dare 
say  it  will  be  best  that  I  should  go  to  school ;  but,  papa, 
do  not  send  me  away  from  home  in  disgrace.  Let  me 
try  a  little  longer  at  home,  as  mamma  said,  till  I  am  bet- 
ter prepared.  You  shall  see  that  now  I  can  do  what  is 
ever  so  disagreeable  to  me ;  and  I  will  get  through  the 


l9JS  PRANK. 

Latin  grammar,  now  I  am  convinced  it  is  so  necei* 
sary." 

"  I  thought,  Frank,  that  you  were  convinced  before 
How  shall  I  be  secure,"  said  his  father,  "  that  you  have 
more  resolution  now  than  you  had  the  last  time  I  made 
the  trial  V 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that,  papa,"  said  Frank,  "  and  I 
will  tell  you  how  I  will  make  sure  of  myself.  Mary, 
here  is  the  key  of  our  bookcase ;  I  have  put  all  our  en- 
tertaining books  in  it;  and  I  will  never  read  any  of 
them,  I  will  never  open  that  bookcase,  till  I  have  said 
my  lesson  for  the  day,  and  learned  the  next  day's  lesson 
too,  till  mamma  says  I  have  it  perfectly ;  and  if  I  should 
afterward  miss  saying  it  well  to  you,  papa,  I  will  not 
read  any  entertaining  book  that  day :  not  even  Robin- 
son Crusoe,  which  I  long  to  finish;  and  I  will  never  go 
out  to  play  with  Mary  till  I  have  my  lesson  ;  and  I  will 
never  speak  to  her  while  I  am  learning  it.  Now,  papa, 
you  shall  see  I  know  how  to  punish  myself,  and  how  to 
manage  myself,  if  you  will  but  let  me  try." 

His  father  consented. 

"  You  shall  make  trial  of  yourself,  Frank,  for  one 
week  longer,"  said  he,  "  and,  if  you  keep  your  resolu- 
tion, and  say  your  lesson  rightly  every  day  that  week, 
I  will  allow  you  another  week's  trial,  and  so  on  till  the 
time  comes  which  I  had  originally  fixed  for  sending 
you  to  school." 

Frank  joyfully  thanked  his  father.  And  we  have  the 
pleasure  to  assure  all  those  who  are  interested  about 
him,  that  during  this  week,  and  the  next,  and  the  next, 
and  the  next,  he  steadily  kept  his  resolution ;  and  at  the 
end  of  a  month  his  father  was  so  well  satisfied,  that  he 
said  "  He  had  no  longer  any  fear  that  his  son  should  be 
sent  to  school  in  disgrace.  He  rejoiced  that  Frank  had 
so  far  acquired  the  habit  of  application,  and  the  power 
of  doing  that  which  is  necessary  to  be  done,  even 
though  it  be  a  little  difficult  or  disagreeable." 

Colonel  Birch,  who  spent  this  summer  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, was  pleased  with  Frank's  resolution. 

"  I  acknowledge,"  said  he,  one  day,  "  this  is  better, 
madam,  than  having  the  Latin  grammar  flogged  into 
him.  A  boy  who  has  acquired  this  power  over  himself, 
may  turn  it  to  whatever  he  pleases  to  learn;  and  he 
will,  I  do  believe,  get  on  without  Dr.  Birch." 


FRANK.  193 

•*  I  hope  you  see,"  said  Frank,  turning  to  his  mother, 
•'  that  you  did  not  quite  spoil  me,  mamma." 

"  After  all,"  said  Mary,  "  that  one  day's  disgrace  of 
ours  has  turned  out  happily  for  us.  Oh!  my  dear 
Frank,"  cried  she,  changing  her  tone,  "  look  what  comes 

here!" 

:>?od;   r.-  _____ 

It  was  a  bright  black  horse,  with  along  tail,  just  such 
a  horse  as  Frank  had  wished  to  possess. 

"  Now,  Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  that  I  see  you  can 
apply  to  what  it  is  disagreeable  to  you  to  do,  I  will  as- 
sist you  in  what  I  know  will  be  agreeable  to  you.  I 
will  teach  you  to  ride." 

Frank  clapped  his  hands.   "  Happy !  happy !"  cried  he. 

"  Every  day  that  your  Latin  lesson  is  well  said,"  cort- 
tinued  his  father,  "  I  will  give  you  a  lesson  in  riding." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  papa,  and  I  will  call  my 
horse  Felix." 

"  Gently,  Frank,  I  am  not  yet  sure  that  I  shall  buy 
this  horse  for  you  ;  he  is  to  be  left  with  me  for  a  month 
on  trial,  and  we  shall  see  whether  he  is  too  spirited  for 
you,  or  you  too  spirited  for  him." 

"  What  a  pretty  creature  he  is,"  said  Mary.  "  I  hope 
he  will  not  be  too  spirited  for  Frank." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  be  too  spirited  for  him,"  said  Frank. 
*'  May  I  get  upon  him  now,  papa  1" 

"  No,  my  dear ;  you  must  begin  with  the  old  pony 
your  brothers  used  to  ride." 

His  mother  observed  that  Frank  was,  she  thought,  so 
young,  that  he  was  scarcely  yet  strong  enough  to  man- 
age even  the  old  pony ;  or,  as  Frank  would  call  it,  the 
tame  pony. 

"  But  it  is  not  strength  that  always  wins,  mamma," 
said  Frank ;  "  as  our  copybook  says,  '  Wisdom  doth 
strength  excel.' " 

"  You  are  wisdom  itself,  no  doubt,"  answered  his 
mother,  smiling.  "  But,"  continued  she,  addressing  her- 
self to  his  father,  "  I  remember  that  my  brother,  who 
rides  very  well  now  he  is  a  man,  never  was  upon  a 
horse  till  he  was  almost  twice  as  old  as  Frank.  My  fa- 
ther used  to  be  afraid  of  his  acquiring  too  strong  a  taste 
for  riding,  and  of  his  wanting  to  go  out  scampering,  as 
he  said,  and  fox-hunting,  with  all  the  young  and  old 
idlers  of  the  country.  He  thought  that  teaching  a  boy 
I  17 


rl04  PRANK. 

.  to  ride  when  he  is  very  young  usually  leads  him  into  mh"^ 
chief.  Is  it  necessary  that  Frank  should  ride  so  very 
early  1" 

"  It  is  not  necessary — ^not  essential,"  replied  his  fa- 
ther; "  but  I  think  it  will  be  useful  to  Frank,  who  has 
not  now  the  advantage  of  being  with  his  brothers,  or 
with  any  other  boys  with  whom  he  might  learn  those 
exercises  that  make  boys  active  and  courageous ;  when 
he  goes  to  school,  and  mixes  with  companions  of  his 
own  age,  he  should  be  equal  to  them  in  body  as  well  as 
in  mind.  Boys  who  have  been  carefully  brought  up  at 
home  have  often  something  effeminate  or  precise  about 
them ;  perhaps  they  do  not  know  how  to  leap,  or  to  run, 
or  to  ride ;  for  this  they  are  laughed  at  by  their  school- 
fellows, and  they  often  get  into  mischief  merely  to 
show  that  they  are  manly.  Many  a  one  has  turned  out 
a  mere  fox-hunter,  because  he  was  not  allowed  to  ride 
when  he  was  a  boy,  and  because  he  was  laughed  at  by 
his  companions  for  being  subject  to  some  prohibition 
against  horses.  Frank's  first  pleasure  in  riding  shall  be 
with  his  father,  and  not  with  some  vulgar  groom  or 
gamekeeper.  Then,  as  he  grows  older,  he  will  feel  the 
advantage  of  having  acquired  a  good  seat  early  upon  a 
horse.  And  he  will  not  be  liable  to  be  either  ridiculed 
or  flattered  about  his  riding.  He  will  enjoy  the  real 
pleasure,  I  hope,  as  much  as  I  do ;  but  he  will  not  over- 
value the  accomplishment,  or  think  it  necessary  to  leap 
seven-barred  gates  every  day  of  his  Ufe,  to  prove  that 
he  is  a  man,  or  that  he  is  what  boys  call  manly." 

Frank,  who  had  been  patting  and  stroking  the  black 
horse  all  the  time  his  father  had  been  speaking,  looked 
anxiously  at  his  mother  to  see  whether  she  was- con- 
vinced ;  and  though  he  did  not  hear  what  she  answered, 
he  knew  by  her  countenance  that  she  was  quite  satis- 
fied, and  so  was  he. 

The  old  pony  was  now  ordered  out,  and  Frank  was 
mounted  upon  him,  and  the  reins  were  put  into  his 
hands.  Frank's  father  led  him  about,  and  he  liked  it 
very  much ;  but  the  next  day  he  was  to  go  by  himself; 
and  before  he  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  he  was  thrown 
off,  or  rather  he  slipped  off.  He  was  not  hurt,  but  he 
was  frightened,  and  seemed  rather  unwilling  to  mount 
the  pony  again. 

"  Up  again,  my  boy,"  said  his  father. 

Frank  scrambled  up  again  upon  the  pony,  and  rode 


FRANK.  196 

two.  or  three  times  round  the  field  with  his  father,  much 
to  his  own  delight  and  to  Mary's,  who  stood  watching 
him.  After  he  had  learned  to  sit  tolerably  well  in  walk, 
trot,  and  canter,  his  father  put  him  upon  the  pony  with- 
out a  saddle,  with  only  a  piece  of  cloth  tied  round  the 
horse,  and  without  stirrups. — And  now  he  was  to  sit  him 
while  the  horse  was  rung.  That  is,  while  a  man  held 
the  horse  by  a  long  bridle,  and  made  him  go  round  and 
round  in  a  circle  ;  at  first  slow,  then  faster  and  faster, 
then  as  fast  as  he  could  go. 

The  first  day  at  the  ring,  Frank  was  off  and  up  again 
continually;  but,  by  degrees,  he  conquered  this  diffi- 
culty ;  and  he  soon  sat  so  well  in  the  ring  that  he  al- 
lowed Mary  to  come  and  look  at  him. 

At  first  she  used  to  hide  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
would  call  to  the  man  to  beg  of  him  not  to  make  the 
horse  go  so  fast.  But  Frank  laughed,  for  he  could 
now  laugh  on  horseback,  and  he  felt  that  habit  had 
made  that  easy  to  him  which  had  appeared  alarming 
at  first. 

And  now  he  was  ambitious  to  mount  the  little  black 
horse. 

"  Mary,  now  you  may  run  to  the  window ;  Felix  is 
brought  out ;  I  am  just  going  to  try  him,"  said  Frank. 

Frank  got  up,  but  scarcely  was  he  in  his  saddle  set, 
when  Mary  too  hastily  opening  the  window,  the  horse 
gave  a  little  start.  Frank,  frightened,  pulled  by  mis- 
take the  curb  rein  very  tight:  immediately  the  horse 
reared,  and  Frank  slipped  off  behind.  Mary  foolishly 
screamed,  and  the  horse  set  out,  on  full  gallop,  across 
the  lawn. 

Frank  stood  upon  his  legs  again  unhurt,  but  looking 
rather  embarrassed. 

Mary  was  exceedingly  sorry  for  what  she  had  done. 
She  was  warned  that  she  must  never  open  a  window 
suddenly  when  anybody  on  horseback  is  near  it.  And 
she  was  blamed  for  her  want  of  presence  of  mind  in 
screaming,  which  Frank's  father  told  her  was  the  most 
foolish  thing  she  could  possibly  do  in  any  danger.  His 
father  observed,  that  if  Frank  would  have  waited  a  min- 
ute to  listen  to  his  instructions  about  the  bridles,  when 
first  he  mounted  the  horse,  he  would  probably  not  have 
made  the  mistake  which  caused  the  accident. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  upon  the  whole,  I  am  glad  it  has 
happened ;  because  I  now  see  that  the  horse  (Sd  not  kick 
I  8 


106  FRANK. 

when  you  were  upon  the  ground,  and  I  shall  have  con- 
fidence in  him  for  the  future." 

Frank's  confidence  in  Felix,  however,  seemed  a  little 
diminished ;  and  when  the  servant,  who  had  now  caught 
the  horse,  brought  him  to  the  door,  Frank  looked  doubt- 
fully at  him.  Mary,  who  was  standing  on  the  steps,  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Oh,  papja,  do  not  let  Frank  get  upon  that  horse  again, 
pray !  pray !  papa !  Pray  do  not,  I  am  sure  he  will  run 
away  with  him." 

"  Mary,  go  in ;  you  must  not  make  a  coward  of  Frank," 
said  his  father,  in  a  commanding  voice.  "  I  must  forbid 
you,  Mary,  ever  to  come  to  these  steps  or  to  that  win- 
dow to  see  him  mount  on  horseback." 

"  No,  no,  pray  do  not  forbid  her,  papa ;  she  will  not 
make  a  coward  of  me.     Look,  I  am  up." 

And  as  he  spoke  he  seated  himself  with  such  deci- 
sion, that  his  father  saw  he  had  completely  conquered 
his  fear. 

Now  master  of  the  reins  and  of  himself,  he  rode  oflF 
with  his  father ;  and  if  any  farther  apprehensions  arose 
again  in  the  course  of  this  day's  ride  from  the  unusual 
pulling  of  the  horse,  these  fears  were  at  least  well  sub- 
dued. 

Mary's  face  was  at  the  window  when  he  returned, 
but  she  took  care  not  to  open  it.  He  came  home  quite 
safely,  and  proudly  patted  his  horse  as  he  alighted. 
Then  he  took  off  his  glove,  and  showed  Mary  the  palm 
of  his  left  hand,  which  was  in  one  place  quite  raw  and 
bleeding,  his  hand  having  been  cut  by  a  stone  when  he 
fell  from  the  horse  on  the  gravel-walk. 

"  Mamma,  look ;  was  not  he  courageous,"  cried  Mary, 
"  to  ride  that  pulling  horse  with  the  reins  in  this  bleed- 
ing hand  V 

Frank  observed  that  he  believed  bearing  pain  was 
called  only  fortitude,  not  courage. 

But  his  father  allowed  that  he  had  also  shown  some 
of  that  best  sort  of  courage,  which  comes  from  the 
mind. 

In  an  hour's  time  his  hand  swelled  and  grew  veiy 
painful ;  and  his  father  desired  that  for  some  days,  till  it 
should  be  quite  recovered,  he  should  ride  the  old  pony, 
and  hold  the  reins  in  his  right  hand. 

Frank  was  impatient  for  his  hand  to  be  well,  that  he 
might  again  ride  the  black  horse ;  he  felt  pleasure  in  the 


FRANK.  197 

h»pe  of  conquering  the  difficulty,  and  was  eager  to  risk 
a  little  danger  to  prove  that  he  was  not  a  coward.  But 
the  hand  festered,  and  a  week  passed  before  it  was  well. 

One  morning  his  mother  was  so  kind  as  to  stop,  even 
in  the  midst  of  reading  some  letters  she  had  just  re- 
ceived, to  dress  his  hand. 

He  was  surprised  by  Mary's  not  coming  to  look  at  the 
dressing  of  his  wounds,  as  it  was  her  usual  custom. 
She  was  intent  upon  another  subject. 

"  Mamma,"  said  she,  "  have  you  finished  with  Frank's 
hand]" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  and  it  is  almost  entirely  well,"  said 
Frank. 

"  Then  I  may  ask  a  question — you  were  reading  a  let- 
ter just  now,  mamma.  Who  was  it  from  1  And  what 
was  it  about,  mammal" 

"  My  dear  Mary,  it  is  not  proper  to  ask  people  who 
their  letters  are  from,  or  what  they  are  about." 

"  I  did  not  know  that,  mamma ;  1  will  not  do  it  again," 
said  Mary.  "  I  only  asked  because  I  thought  it  was 
something  about  Frank,  for  you  looked  as  if  you  were 
considering." 

"  I  was  considering ;  but  it  was  nothing  about  Frank. 
I  was  considering  about  the  affairs  of  a  man  in  Jamaica." 

"  Oh,  if  it  is  nothing  about  Frank,"  said  Mary,  "  I  do 
not  care.  I  did  not  guess  right  by  your  face,  mamma, 
this  time." 

"  No ;  but  I  must  tell  you  another  thing,  Mary,  which 
you  do  not  yet  know." 

•'  What,  mamma  V 

"  That  you  should  not  try  to  guess  by  my  counte- 
nance what  my  letters  are  about." 

"Indeed!" 

"  No ;  because  they  might  be  about  something  which 
I  do  not  choose  to  tell  you." 

"  But  I  cannot  help  guessing  whether  it  is  good  or 
bad,  when  I  look  at  you  or  anybody  reading  a  letter, 
mamma ;  therefore,  I  suppose  the  best  way  would  be — 
indeed,  the  only  good  way  must  be — not  to  look  at  you 
at  all.  So,  mamma,  while  you  are  reading  the  rest  of 
those  letters  or  notes  1  will  turn  my  back  to  you,  and 
go  on  with  my  own  affairs,  pasting  my  pocketbook : 
though  there  is  among  those  a  note  with  very  pretty- 
coloured  edged  paper ;  but.  I  believe  I  should  not  have 
•seen  it,  and  I  will  not  ask  any  thing  about  it,  mamma.*' 
17* 


196  PRANK. 

Mary  and  Frank  went  on  minding  their  own  affairs, 
till  his  mother  called  to  them,  and  read  the  note  with 
the  pretty-edged  paper. 

'    ^  Mrs.  J 's  compliments." 

*'  And  who  is  Mrs.  J 1"  interrupted  Mary. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  the  silly  mother,  that's  her  name,  don't 
you  remember  V  cried  I-  rank. 

"  Call  her  Mrs.  J ,  Frank,  I  desire,"  said  his  moth- 
er. "  This  note  is  to  invite  us  to  dinner  on  Thursday, 
and  you  and  Mary  are  particularly  asked  to  meet  some 
young  people." 

"  Thursday  is  the  last  day  of  Master  Tom's  holy- 
days,"  cried  Frank ;  "  he  told  me  so  the  morning  we 
went  there,  mamma.  But  I  do  not  want  to  see  him 
again,  for  I  do  not  like  him  much." 

"  But  you  cannot,  in  this  world,  see  only  the  people 
you  like,  Frank ;  besides,  you  have  not  seen  enough  to 
know  whether  you  ought  to  like  him  or  not ;  and,  at  all 
events,  it  will  be  good  for  you  to  see  boys  of  different 
sorts  before  you  go  to  school." 

Frank  and  Mary  went  with  their  mother  to  dine  with 

Mrs.  J .     The  young  people  who  had  been  exj)ected 

did  not  come.     Mrs.  J made  many  apologies ;  she 

had  been  disappointed  by  every  one — she  had  no  com- 
pany but  themselves. 

Before  Frank  had  been  in  the  room  with  Master  Tom 
many  minutes,  Tom  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve,  as  a  sign 
that  he  wanted  to  speak  to  him  without  being  heard  by 
his  mother. 

"  This  was  to  have  been  my  hanging-day,"  said  Tom', 
*'  but  I  have  got  off." 

"  Hanging-day,"  said  Frank ;  "  what  can  you  mean  1" 

"  Why  you,  that  have  never  been  at  our  school,  there 
is  no  talking  to  you,"  replied  Tom ;  "  you  cannot  under- 
stand trapy 

Frank  did  not  yet  understand  even  what  was  meant 
by  trap. 

"  In  plain  English  then,  since  nothing  else  will  do  for 
you,  we  call  hanging-day  the  day  before  we  go  to 
school;  but  I  have  got  off;  I  am  not  to  go  to  school 
again — to  that  school,  at  least." 

Tom  could  explain  no  farther,  for  dinner  was  au.- 
nounced. 

The  fact  was,  that  Mrs.  J had  been  ashamed  of 

her  son's  vulgar  manner  of  speaking  and  behaving,  es 


FRANK.  199 

?ecially  that  morning  when  she  paid  her  first  visit  to 
rank's  mother ;  and  Tom,  taking  advantage  of  this, 
persuaded  her  that  "  it  was  all  the  fault  of  the  school," 
and  prevailed  upon  his  mamma  not  to  send  him  there 
again. 

She  said  she  was  now  determined  to  put  Tom  to  a 
school  where  manners  should  be  the  prime  considera- 
tion— she  would  spare  no  expense  to  make  him  quite  a 
gentleman. 

In  the  meantime  he  was  suffered  to  behave  like  what 
his  mother  continually  told  him  that  he  was,  "  quite  a 
little  bear." 

At  dinner  he  paid  no  attention  to  any  thing  that  pass- 
ed in  conversation ;  he  was  thinking  of  nothing  hat  get- 
ting what  he  liked  best  to  eat,  which  he  devoured  as 
fast  as  possible ;  he  then  fidgeted,  called  all  the  ser- 
vants, and  looked  sulky  and  injured  till  he  had  some- 
thing more. 

He  had  a  number  of  dislikes :  he  told  his  mamma  he 
could  not  bear — could  not  touch — several  things,  which 
she  offered  to  put  on  his  plate. 

During  dinner  his  mother  talked  to  him,  and  of  him, 
at  different  times,  nearly  in  the  following  manner  : — 

*'  My  dear  Tom,  how  you  do  eat :  you  are  positively 
quite  a  little  epicure — absolutely  a  little  cormorant !" 

"  But,"  turning  to  Frank's  father  and  mother,  "  they 
do  make  children  so  fond  of  eating  at  those  schools,  by 
not  giving  them  good  things  constantly.  I  cannot  bear 
to  see  children  gormandize  ;  but  for  the  little  time  poor 
Tom  is  to  be  at  home  with  me,  it  cannot  signify,  you 
know,  ma'am." 

"  So,  Tom,  you  are  very  fond,  are  you,  of  being  at 
home  with  mamma  V 

Not  a  word  in  answer  from  Tom,  but  a  large  piece 
put  into  his  mouth. 

"  Well,  but  sit  up,  my  dear ;  you  are  quite  a  bear. 
Ma'am,  you  must  know  he  has  wheedled  me  into  letting 
him  stay  a  little  longer  at  home:— indeed !"  added  she 
in  a  whisper,  "he  is'  the  most  affectionate  creature, 
though  his  manner  is  so  shy. — But  put  down  your  knife, 
my  dear,  do  pray. — Excuse  him,  sir,  he  is  in  such 
spirits  to-day,  he  does  not  mind  what  anybody  says  to 
him. — But  Tom  !  Tom  !  you  forget  Miss  Mary  and  Mas- 
ter Frank.  Pray  let  me  see  you  think  of  your  young 
i'rieuds. — But  indeed,  ma'am,  these  schools  do  mdke 


200  PRANK. 

such  terrible  great  bears  of  one's  boys — worse  than  they 
naturally  are.  All  boys  are  naturally  little  bears,  you 
know.  Master  Frank,  indeed,  is  an  exception ;  for  he 
looks  as  if  he  had  never  been  a  little  bear,  and  I  am 
sure  he  never  was  and  never  will  be  one.  But  he  has 
a  very  small  appetite,  ma'am. — Won't  you  take  some- 
thing more,  my  dear  T  do. — Before  he  goes  to  school, 
you  should  indulge  him  in  getting  what  he  likes,  and  as 
much  as  he  pleases ;  for,  as  Tom  can  tell  him,  he 
won't  find  any  of  these  good  things  at  school. — Hey, 
Tom !" 

Frank  had  eaten  what  he  liked,  and  as  much  as  he 
liked,  which  he  was  usually  allowed  to  do  :  and  he  was 
fond  of  sweet  things,  as  children  naturally  are ;  but 
they  had  not  been  made  rewards  to  him,  or  proofs  of 
kindness ;  and  he  had  not  been  made  to  think  eating  a 
matter  of  such  great  consequence  as  it  appeared  to  Mrs. 
J and  to  Master  Tom. 

After  dinner  Tom  was  at  his  mamma's  elbow  "  for 
his  glass  of  wine."  This  day  it  was  to  be  a  bumper, 
because  there  was  company. 

"  True,  my  dear,  because  you  must  drink  all  the  com- 
pany's health,  and  Master  Frank's  iu  particular." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  that's  not  a  fair  bumper  yet,"  said 
Tom. 

*'  Well,  now,  my  dear,  there's  a  fair  bumper  for  you 
— quite  a  man's  bumper. — I  will  treat  you  like  a  man 
and  a  gentleman  to-day,  because,  Tom, .you  were  very 
good  to-day  in  not  swinging  on  my  Chinese  gate,  which 
is  the  only  thing,  you  know,  I  forbid — ay,  you  remem- 
ber !  you  lost  your  wine  once  by  that. — Oh,  I  am  very 
strict,  ma'am,  sometimes ;  pray  give  me  credit.  But 
Tom  !  how  you  tossed  it  down  without  recollecting  all 
the  healths — I'm  quite  ashamed." 

Tom,  with  his  head  back  as  far  as  it  could  be  thrown, 
was,  in  spite  of  his  mother's  shame,  trying  if  a  drop 
more  could  not  be  had  from  the  bottom  of  the  glass. 

His  mother  observed  "  that  it  was  very  odd  Tom 
had  learned  to  like  wine  so,  for  she  could  remember 
the  time  when  he  could  not  bear  the  taste  of  it.  But, 
my  dear  Master  Frank,  you  must  get  your  bumper  too 
— mamma  will  allow  you  a  bumper  this  once — to-day, 
I  am  sure." 

But  Frank  happened  not  to  like  the  taste  of  wine,  and 
he    ad  not  beca  made  to  like  it  by  its  being  given  to 


FRANK.  201 

him  as  a  reward  or  an  indulgence,  or  a  proof  of  his  be- 
ing treated  as  a  man  and  a  gentleman. 

He  thanked  Mrs.  J ,  but  he  drew  back  his  glass  as 

she  was  going  to  fill  it :  he  said  he  would  rather  not 
have  any  wine. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  drink  your  friend  Tom's  health." 

Tom's  friend  !  he  is  not  Tom's  friend,  thought  Mary. 

So  Frank  thought;  and,  besides,  he  did  not  know 
what  good  it  would  do  him  to  drink  his  health,  even  if 
he  were  his  friend. 

"  Oh,  if  you  don't  hke  it,  my  dear,  I  wo 'n't  insist ;  be 
cause  it  might  make  you  sick,  if  you  are  not  used  to 
it,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  J . 

"  Mother,  do  help  the  strawberries,"  said  Tom,  "  and 
give  me  plenty,  mamma — and  that  big  one,"  whispered 
he,  kissing  her. 

"  When  it  comes  to  your  turn,  my  darling ;  but  we 
must  not  think  only  of  number  one — when  there's  com- 
pany, Tom." 

"  Mamma,  where  is  your  ear,"  said  Tom,  putting  his 
mouth  close  to  it  and  whispering — "  That's  the  reason 
I  hate  company." 

This  observation  made  his  mother  laugh,  and  she 
seemed  to  think  it  very  witty ;  but  she  said  it  was  a 
secret,  and  she  would  keep  his  secret.  She  heaped  up 
a  plate  of  fruit  for  him,  and  bid  him  eat  it,  and  hold  his 
dear  little  tongue.  But  Tom,  having  swallowed  his 
man^s  bumper,  became  as  talkative  as  he  had  before 
been  silent.  And  Frank  and  Mary  felt  ashamed  for  him, 
he  now  talked  so  loud  and  such  nonsense  !  And  it  was 
all  about  himself  or  his  schoolmaster :  he  told  of  what 
clever  tricks  he  played  at  school,  and  how  he  hated 
his  schoolmaster,  and  how  glad  he  was  he  had  done 
with  him,  and  he  would  never  go  to  any  school  again 
if  he  could  help  it. 

"  Now,  Tom,  you  are  getting  vastly  too  loud,  and  we 
can't  bear  it ;  and  you  must  go  out.  No,  my  sweet 
love,  no  more  of  any  thing ;  and  you  are  dragging  my 
head  off  with  your  kisses.  Go,  now,  go  out  and  play, 
I  insist.  Take  Master  Frank  and  Miss  Mary  out,  and 
show  them  the  place,  there's  a  dear  boy."  Then  turn- 
ing to  Frank's  father  and  mother,  she  added,  "  He  is  so 
fond  of  me  there's  no  getting  him  out  of  the  room." 

But  she  put  him  out  at  last,  because,  as  she  truly 
said,  "  there  was  no  bearing  him  any  longer."    Frank 
13 


i^  FRANK. 

and  Mary  followed,  because  they  were  desired  to  do"so. 
They  did  not  much  like  to  go  with  Tom :  however,  they 
were  glad  to  be  in  the  fresh  air,  and  to  run  about  in  the 
pretty  shrubbery.  Mary  liked  to  look  at  some  white 
rabbits,  which  Tom  said  were  his  mamma's  great  pels ; 
but  Mary  could  not  bear  to  see  the  manner  in  which 
Tom  teased  and  frightened  them ;  he  called  it  good  fun. 
When  she  turned  away  he  dragged  Frank  on,  and  said, 
"  You  will  be  laughed  at  finely  at  school  if  you  play 
with  girls.  Come,  come  on,  and  leave  her  behind — let 
her  find  her  own  way." 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  stopping  short ;  "  I  will  wait  for 
Mary." 

Tom  could  not  pull  him  on  till  Mary  came  up.  They 
were  now  within  sight  of  a  gate  that  opened  into  a  new 
part  of  the  pleasure-ground. 

"  That's  the  Chinese  gate,"  said  Tom,  "  and  I  will 
have  a  swing  upon  it." 

Frank  asked  if  this  was  not  the  gate  his  mother  de- 
sired that  he  would  not  swing  upon. 

"  Yes ;  but  what  signifies,"  said  he,  "  I  sha'n't  break 
it." 

Frank  tried  to  hold  him' back,  saying,  "  Oh,  do  not, 
do  not." 

But  Tom  jumped  upon  the  gate,  crying,  "What  a 
coward  you  are  !  Did  you  never  swing  upon  a  gate  in 
your  life — it's  the  best  fun ;  but  you  don't  know  what 
fun  is,  never  having  been  at  school,  and  only  with  girls, 
you  are  so  afraid  of  every  thing." 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  every  thing,  I 
am  only  afraid  of  doing  wrong." 

.  "  A  fine  come  off" ;  but  I'll  tell  you  what  you're  afraid 
of — you  are  afraid  of  hurting  your  sore  hand  there,  after 
your  tumble  off  the  pony." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  said  Mary. 

Tom  set  the  gate  swinging  ;  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  are 
you  really  such  a  quiz,  then,  as  to  think  there's  any 
harm  in  swinging  on  a  gate  V 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  "  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  harm 
in  swinging  on  a  gate ;  but  I  think  it  is  wrong  for  you 
to  swing  on  that  gate,  because  your  mother  desired  you 
not  to  do  it." 

"  Nonsense !" 

"  Come,  Frank,"  said  Mary,  "  let  us  go  back  to  the 
bouse ;  I  know  the  way." 


PRANK.  203 

"  You'll  tell  of  me  I  suppose." 

"  I  shall  not  say  any  thing  about  you,"  said  Frank, 
"unless  I  am  asked." 

"And  if  you  are  asked,  what  will  you  say?"  said 
Tom. 

"  The  truth,  to  be  sure,"  said  Frank. 
.  "  Then  you  will  be  a  telltale,"  said  Tom,  "  oh,  if  I 
had  known  what  sort  of  a  fellow  you  were,  I  would 
never  have  trusted  you,"  added  Tom,  getting  oflf  the 
gate.  "  You'll  never  do  at  school — you'll  be  sent  to 
Coventry." 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  means,"  said  Frank,  "  but  I 
hope  I  shall  be  able  to  bear  it,  whatever  it  is." 

"  Mighty  grand  !"  said  Tom,  "  and  all  about  a  gate  ! 
What  signifies  talking  any  more  about  such  a  thing." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  talk  any  more  about  it,"  said  Frank. 

"  Therefore  come  away,"  said  Mary ;  and  Frank  and 
Mary  went  towards  the  house. 

"  Very  civil  indeed,"  cried  Tom,  rumiing  after  them, 
and  overtaking  them,  "  very  civil,  indeed,  to  go  off  and 
leave  me  alone;  you,  who  are  so  polite  too,  which 
mamma's  always  twilling  me  with." 

Mary  and  Frank  were  summoned  to  the  tea-table  the 
moment  after  they  went  in,  and  Tom's  mouth  was  soon 
full  of  plumcake. 

But  while  his  mother  was  setting  before  him  all  that 
he  wanted,  and  more  than  he  could  want,  she  suddenly 
changed  countenance. 

"  So,  Tom,  you  have  actually  been  on  my  gate  again, 
in  spite  of  all !  You  are  very  ungrateful,  Tom,  after 
all." 

"  But  who  told  you  so,  ma'am  ]"  said  Tom. 

"  My  own  eyes,  sir.  What's  this  V  said  his  mother, 
angrily,  as  she  held  up  and  brought  opposite  to  his  eyes 
the  flap  of  his  coat,  which  was  streaked  with  white 
paint  from  the  freshly-painted  gate.  "  What's  this, 
Tom  r' 

"  Ask  me  no  questions  and  I  will  tell  you  no  lies !" 
said  Tom,  turning  off  abruptly ;  and,  snatching  the  coat 
from  his  mother's  hands,  he  got  away,  and  ran  out  of  the 
room,  clapping  the  door  after  him. 

"  He's  off;  that's  the  way  he  always  gets  off,"  said 
his  mother ;  and  glancing  her  eye  at  Frank's  coat  she 
added,  "  1  hope,  Master  Frank,  you  have  not  been  ruin- 
ing your  coat  too  1" 


&04  FRANK. 

Frank  stood  quite  still  and  said  nothing,  while  she  ex- 
amined him  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You  have  escaped  wonderfully,"  said  she. 

"He  never  touched  the  gate,  ma'am,"  said  Mary. 

"  No  !"  said  Mrs.  J— — ;  "  was  not  he  swinging  I" 

'*  No,  ma'am,"  said  Mary,  "  he  was  not." 

"  Say  no  more,  Mary,"  said  Frank ;  "  papa  and  mam- 
ma never  thought  I  was,  I  am  sure." 

His  mother  smiled,  and  assured  him  that  she  never 
had  suspected  him. 

"  Then  he  is  really  a  wonderfully  good  boy,"  said 
Mrs.  J . 

Nothing  so  very  wonderful,  thought  Frank.  ■ 

*'  Now  really  he  is  an  admirable  creature.  Does  the 
cake  make  you  sick,  love  t  I'm  sure  there's  something 
in  it  you  don't  like.  Don't  eat  it,  put  it  away,  my  pet, 
if  you  don't  like  it." 

There  was  certainly  something  Frank  did  not  like ; 
but  it  was  not  the  cake,  for  that  he  finished  eating. 

"  But  now,  pray,  my  dear  Master  Frank,  how  was  it 
'hat  Tom  got  on  the  gate  after  all  I  said — or  did  he  get 
upon  it ;  for  perhaps  I  have  done  him  great  injustice, 
and  he  has  a  high  spirit — how  was  it  V 

Frank  said  that  if  he  had  done  any  thing  wrong  him- 
self he  would  tell  it ;  but  that  he  begged  she  would  not 
ask  him  any  more  questions. 

Their  carriage  came  to  the  door,  they  took  leave, 
drove  away,  and  what  happened  afterward  they  never 
knew. 

Frank's  mother  said  that  they  had  now  seen  quite 
enough  of  Master  Tom  to  be  convinced  that  he  could 
never  be  a  fit  friend  or  desirable  companion  for  Frank. 
His  father  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and  Frank  and 
Mary  were  glad. 

"  This  shows,"  added  his  father,  •'  how  disagreeable 
and  good  for  nothing  a  little  boy  may  be  early  made  by 
a  vulgar  school,  and  by  being  spoiled  at  home.  Tom  is 
an  example,  such  as  you  never  saw  before,  and,  I  hope, 
will  seldom  see  again,  of  a  disagreeable,  selfish,  vulgar, 
spoiled  schoolboy.  But  you  must  not  think  that  all 
schoolboys  are  like  him.  As  soon  as  we  have  oppor- 
tunities, you  shall  see  others." 


FRANK. 


It  happened  the  first  day  when  Frank's  hand  was  re- 
covered, and  when  he  was  mounted  on  Fehx — his  reins 
right,  his  feet  well  in  the  stirrups,  his  seat  firm,  the  sun 
shining,  and  all  promising  a  pleasant  ride — ^just  as  they 
were  going  to  set  out,  that  his  father  saw  three  persons 
on  horseback  coming  up  the  approach. 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  over  with  our  ride,  I  am  afraid,"  said 
Frank ;  "  who  are  these  people  1  One  is  a  little  boy — 
Master  Tom,  papa.  His  visit  wiU  be  no  great  pleasure 
to  you,  papa.     Nor  to  me,  if  I  am  to  lose  my  ride." 

"  Nor  to  me,"  said  Mary,  who  was  standing  with  her 
weed-basket  in  her  hand  on  the  grass-plot  beside  them, 
"  excepting  for  one  reason,  mamma :  I  am  glad  he 
should  see  Frank  on  horseback,  because  he  seemed  to 
think  that  Frank  could  not  run,  or  ride,  or  do  any  of 
those  sort  of  things.     Now  Frank  can  show  him." 

"  Mary !  Mary !  do  not  make  me  show  off  again," 
said  Frank.  "But  who  are  those  men  along  with 
him  r' 

One  was  a  groom  belonging  to  Master  Tom's  mother ; 
the  other  was  the  horse-dealer,  who  had  left  the  black 
horse  with  Frank's  father  on  a  month's  trial,  and  who 
had  engaged  to  sell  the  horse  to  him  at  the  end  of  that 
time  for  a  certain  price,  if  he  should  be  approred.  But, 
in  the  meanwhile,  this  man  had  been  applied  to  by 
Master  Tom's  mother,  for  a  horse  for  Tom ;  and  he 
found  that  he  could  have  gained  from  that  lady  some 
guineas  more  than  he  had  engaged  to  sell  it  for  to 
Frank's  father ;  he  was  therefore  in  hopes  that  it  would 
be  found  too  spirited  for  Frank,  and  that  it  would  be  re- 
turned to  him  this  day,  which  was  the  last  of  the 
month's  trial.  Master  Tom  was  exceedingly  anxious  to 
have  the  horse,  and  he  was  in  great  hopes  of  it ;  be- 
cause his  friend,  the  groom,  had  told  him  he  had  seen 
Frank  riding  the  old  pony  several  da3;^.  Tom  was 
rather  surprised  when  he  saw  Frank  upon  the  black 
horse,  and,  as  it  app>eared,  sitting  at  his  ease. 

"  What,  are  you  got  upon  Blacky  V  said  Tom,  begin- 
ning to  talk  to  Frank,  while  the  horse-dealer  was  speak- 
ing to  Frank's  father ;  "  1  thought  you  told  me  you  did 
not  know  how  to  ride  when  I  was  here  before." 

"  1  did  not  then,  but  my  father  has  been  teaching  me 
since  that  time,"  said  Frank. 

"  Your  father !  What  a  bore,  to  be  taught  to  ride  by 
18 


206  PRANK. 

one's  father :  I  had  much  better  fiin.    The  groom  here. 
Jack,  taught  me." 

"  Ay,  that  I  did,  sir,"  said  the  groom,  riding  up  close 
to  his  young  master;  "  and  for  a  rider  of  his  inches,  I'd 
pit  him  against  any  young  gentleman  in  England,  or  the 
'varsal  world,  I  say.  Master  Frank,  sir,  your  reins  is 
too  long ;  give  me  leave  to  put  'em  right,"  added  the 
groom,  alighting — "  I'll  show  you." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Frank,  "  my  father  will  put 
them  right  if  they  are  wrong — my  father  teaches  me." 

And  so  saying,  Frank  went  to  the  other  side  of  his 
father ;  Tom  followed  him ;  and,  while  his  father  contin- 
ued listening  to  the  horse-dealer,  Tom  went  on  talking 
to  Frank ;  telling  him  that  he  had  heard  Blacky,  as  he 
called  the  black  horse,  was  much  too  spirited  for  one 
who  was  not  used  to  riding ;  he  wondered,  he  said,  that 
he  was  trusted  upon  such  a  creature ;  he  was  sure  that 
he  would  not,  if  he  knew  as  much  of  it  as  some  people 
could  tell  him. 

Frank  anxiously  asked  what  1 
■  Tom,  who  was  meanly  cunning,  as  stupid  boys  and 
stupid  men  often  are,  began  to  try  to  frighten  him  with 
stories  of  Blacky's  having  reared,  and  run  away,  and 
kicked ;  and  when  he  saw  Frank  look  a  little  alarmed, 
advised  him,  if  it  was  left  to  liis  choice,  not  to  have  this 
horse,  but  to  stick  to  the  tame  pony,  and  to  wait  till  the 
horse-dealer  could  find  him  something  that  would  suit 
him.  "  Or,"  said  he,  "  I  could  let  you  have  this  which  I 
am  riding,  which  is  as  gentle  as  a  lamb,  and  I  could  take 
Blacky,  because  I  am  used  to  riding,  and  don't  mind  its 
tricks." 

Frank's  father,  having  heard  all  that  the  horse-dealer 
had  to  say,  now  turned  to  Frank,  and  told  him  that  he 
might  decide  for  himself  whether  he  wished  to  keep  the 
horse  or  not. 

"  Thank  you,  papa,"  said  Frank,  "  but  I  do  not  know 
any  thing  about  horses,  and  I  would  rather  that  you 
would  decide  for  me." 

Then  Frank  repeated  what  Master  Tom  had  just  told 
of  Fehx's  tricks,  and  asked  whether  his  father  had  heard 
of  these. 

"  No,"  his  father  answered,  the  horse-dealer  had  for- 
merly assured  him  that  he  had  no  tricks ;  and  he  had, 
during  this  month's  trial,  found  Felix  perfectly  good- 
tempered,  though  spirited. 

"  So,  Frank,"  said  his  father, "  the-cfuestion is,  whether 


FRANK.  207 

you  are  or  are  not  afraid  to  ride  it  ?  I  am  not  afraid  for 
you." 

"  Nor  I  am  not  afraid  for  myself,"  said  Frank ;  "  I 
wish  to  keep  Felix." 

"  Then  you  shall  have  him — Felix  is  yours." 
^  Frank  thanked  his  father  and  patted  Felix.  "  He  is 
too  cheap,  that  is  certain,"  said  the  horse-dealer ;  "  for 
he  is  as  fine  a  leaper  as  any  in  the  country.  Take  care. 
Master  Frank,  if  you  are  not  used  to  leaping ;  take  care 
that  he  does  not  throw  you  clean  over  his  head." 

Frank  did  not  like  the  idea  of  being  thrown  clean  over 
his  head.  Tom  saw  this,  and  said  sneeringly,  in  a  low 
voice, 

"  Did  you  see  how  white  he  grew  ]" 

Just  at  this  time  Felix,  from  some  hiiicy,  the  cause  of 
which  was  not  perceived  by  Frank,  suddenly  gathered 
himself  up,  and  leaped  over  a  sunk  fence,  which  there 
was  in  the  lawn,  near  the  place  where  they  were  standing. 

Frank  was  thrown  "  clean  over  his  head,"  but  falling 
on  the  new-mown  grass,  was  not  hurt.  Tom  burst  into 
a  stupid,  brutal  laugh.  The  horse-dealer  pretended  to 
be  much  concerned,  and  repeated,  that  he  was  afraid 
Blacky  would  be  too  much  for  Master  Frank,  and  went 
to  help  him  up :  but  Frank  was  on  his  legs  again  with- 
out his  assistance. 

"  It  was  unfair  not  to  give  you  notice,  my  boy,"  said 
his  father ;  "  but  never  mind,  you  will  do  better  the  next 
time.     Have  you  a  mind  to  try  again  V 

"  That  I  have,"  said  Frank,  "  if  you  will  show  me  how 
to  do  better." 

"  Mount  him  again,  then." 

Frank  was  in  the  saddle  in  an  instant ;  his  father  told 
him  how  he  should  sit  when  the  horse  should  begin  and 
end  his  leap.  Then,  turning  to  the  horse-dealer,  who, 
as  he  perceived,  had  before  made  a  secret  signal  to  the 
horse,  by  which  he  had  given  it  notice  to  leap,  said, "  If 
you  will  now  repeat  your  signal,  sir,  Frank  is  better 
prepared,  and,  perhaps,  may  sit  the  horse  better ;  or,  if 
not,  I  am  much  mistaken  in  my  boy  if  he  does  not  per- 
severe till  he  succeeds." 

**  Thank  you,  father,"  said  Frank. 

The  horse-dealer  protested  that,  if  he  had  made  any 

noise,  it  was  not  any  signal,  but  quite  by  accident ;  and 

good  little  Frank  believed  him.     FeUx  leaped  again,  and 

this  time  Prank  sat  him.     The  leaps  were  repeated  by 

is  own  desire,  to  prove  to  himself  that  be  could  succeed, 


W8  FRANK. 

"  Felix  is  not  too  spirited  for  me,  you  see,  papa :  I 
may  keep  him,  may  not  1 1"  said  he. 

"  You  may,  my  dear,"  said  his  father. 

Tom  sullenly  wished  them  a  good  morning,  and  rode 
away  with  his  groom  companion.  Frank's  father  was 
now  to  pay  for  Felix ;  and  while  he  was  counting  the 
money,  Master  Tom  being  out  of  hearing,  the  horse- 
dealer  began  to  flatter  Frank,  declaring  "  that  he  had  a 
much  better  seat  on  horseback  than  Master  Tom ;  that 
it  was  wonderful  to  see  how  spirited  Master  Frank  was ; 
that  he  deserved,  indeed,  to  have  a  spirited  horse ;  and 
that  he  would  not,  for  a  guinea,  that  any  young  gentle- 
man but  himself  should  have  had  Blacky,  he  looked  so 
well  on  him ;  that  a  fine  young  gentleman  should  al- 
ways have  a  fine  young  horse ;  that  he  was  certain 
Master  Frank  would,  in  time,  make  the  finest  young 
gentleman-rider  in  the  whole  county,  or  the  next,  or  in 
the  three  ridings  of  Yorkshire." 

And  a  great  deal  more  he  would  have  Sciid,  but  that 
Frank  abruptly  exclaimed — 

"  Pray  don't  flatter  me  so ;  I  cannot  bear  it !" 

Frank's  father  put  the  money  for  the  price  of  the 
horse  into  the  man's  hand,  who,  after  counting  it,  walk- 
ed away  discontented,  and  never  attempted  to  flatter 
Frank  any  more. 

They  had  been  so  much  delayed  by  this  business, 
that  Frank  lost  his  ride  for  this  day ;  but  the  next  morn- 
ing Frank  had  a  very  pleasant  ride  with  his  father: 
trotting  through  pretty  lanes,  and  cantering  across  a 
common,  they  came  to  Copsley  Farm ;  a  farm  which 
had  been  lately  purchased  by  Farmer  Lee,  at  whose 
old  house  Frank,  when  he  was  a  very  Utile  boy,  saw  a 
thatcher  at  work — the  day  when  he  had  his  first  success- 
ful battle  with  a  turkey-cock. 

Farmer  Lee  welcomed  them  cordially,  and  invited 
Frank  to  rest  himself  in  the  house,  and  to  eat  something, 
while  his  father  should  ride  round  the  farm  :  but  Frank 
said  that  he  was  neither  tired  nor  hungry,  and  that  he 
liked  to  go  with  his  father,  and  to  see  and  hear  aU  that 
was  to  be  seen  and  heard. 

The  farmer,  happy  in  showing  all  his  little  comforts 
and  conveniences  to  one  who  so  kindly  took  an  interest 
in  them,  took  Frank's  father  what  he  called  the  grand 
tour,  finishing  by  the  back  yard ;  and  here,  unwilling  to 
part  with  him,  he  had  more  and  more  last  words  to  say. 


FRANK.  209 

But,  while  he  was  thus  detaining  them,  the  gobbling 
of  a  turkey-cock  was  heard  in  the  poultry-yard,  which 
was  divided  from  the  farmyard  by  a  slight  wall.  .  From 
the  moment  Felix  heard  this  noise,  he  began  to  grow  un- 
easy: Frank,  while  the  farmer  was  talking  loud  and 
eagerly  about  his  own  affairs,  went  on  patting  his  horse, 
and  reasoning  with  him  in  a  low  voice : — 

"  My  dear  Felix,  don't  be  foolish — it's  only  the  turkey- 
cock.  Stand  still,  Fehx — stand  still.  Oh,  Felix !  Felix ! 
for  shame,  Felix :  you  are  a  greater  coward  than  I  was, 
when  I  was — Oh,  Felix,  fy!  you'll  throw  me  on  the 
dunghill  if  you  don't  take  care— ^do  stand  still.  Do  hush ! 
turkey-cock  !  What  a  horrible  hobble-gobbling  you  are 
making — stand  still,  I  say  sir !  stand  still '." 

No ;  Felix  could  not  or  would  not  stand  still  while 
this  horrible  hobble-gobbling  went  on  ;  but  was  contin- 
ually sideling  from  the  wall  of  the  chickenyard  towards 
the  dunghill,  which  was  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  How  I  wish  my  father  would  turn,  and  look  how 
Felix  is  going  on,"  thought  Frank,  but  still  he  would  not 
call  upon  him  for  assistance.  His  father  knew  well 
what  was  going  on,  but  on  purpose  left  Frank  to  man- 
age with  Felix  as  he  could. 

"  Will  that  farmer  never  have  done  talking  1  I  wish 
his  mouth  and  the  turkey-cock's  were  both  stopped '." 
thought  Frank. 

When  he  hoped  it  was  ended,  it  began  again  on  each 
side.  At  last  they  came  to  "  a  good  morning  to  you, 
sir,  kindly — a  very  good  morning." 

Frank's  father  returned  the  "  good  morning,"  and  was, 
to  Frank's  joy,  setting  off,  when  the  farmer,  striding 
before  him,  called  out,  ''Pray,  sir,  come  and  see  the 
new  back  road ;  it  is  not  a  yard  out  of  your  way.  This 
way,  if  you  please,  sir  !  This  way,  Master  Frank,  if  you 
please !" 

But  this  way  did  not  at  all  please  Master  Frank,  for 
it  was  through  the  chickenyard ;  and  the  moment  the 
door  was  opened,  a  gobbling  and  cackling  was  heard, 
which  very  much  displeased  Fehx.  However,  Frank 
knew  that  he  must  follow  his  leader.  His  father  stoop- 
ed his  head  as  he  went  through  the  doorway;  and 
called  to  Frank,  bidding  him  do  the  same. 

"Yes,  papa,  yes ;  but  Felix  will  not  go  through,  I  am 
afraid." 

"Afraid!" 

18* 


SIO 


PRANK. 


"No,  no,  not  afraid  myself,  papa,  only  afraid  that 
Felix  is  afraid  of  the  turkey-cock,  sir." 

"  Is  that  all  V  said  his  father,  and  he  rode  on  through 
the  opposite  gate. 

At  this  moment  his  ancient  enemy  stood  insolently 
in  the  doorway,  filling  it  up  with  his  hug(8  blajcik  semi- 
circle of  feathers  fanned  out  behind,  his  red  and  blue 
pouch  swelling  out  in  front,  and  screeching  defiance  with 
all  his  might. 

Frank  knew  him  of  old  to  be  a  bully  and  a  coward  ; 
but  Felix,  not  suspecting  this,  backed  in  spite  of  gll  ef- 
forts to  make  him  advance.  The  turkey-cock  sweUe4 
and  gobbled  the  more. 

"  Oh,"  thought  Frank,  "  if  I  were  but  on  the  ground 
on  my  own  legs,  with  a  good  stick  in  my  hand  !" 

But  he  was  on  horseback,  with  a  good  whip  in  his 
hand :  resolved  that  the  adversary,  whom  he  had  van- 
quished on  foot  three  years  ago,  should  not  now  con- 
quer him  on  horseback,  he,  with  a  stroke  of  the  whip, 
that  told  Felix  he  must  obey,  struck  his  heels  into  him, 
and  pressed  him  forward.  Felix  obeyed;  cleared  the 
doorway  of  the  cowardly  bully ;  and  Frank,  bending  his 
head  low,  entered  the  doorway. 

Felix  went  on,  made  his  way  through  the  hissing  and 
the  screaming  geese,  dispersed  the  inferior  crowd  of 
cacklers,  and  carried  Frank  from  the  yard  triumphant. 
The  farmer  shut  the  outer  door  behind  him,  and  bidding 
Frank  look  back,  through  the  rails  in  the  upper  part  of 
the  door,  desired  him  to  choose  any  two  from  among 
his  enemies,  of  whom,  he  said,  he  would  with  pleasure 
make  him  a  present,  in  honour  of  his  victory.  The  farm- 
er, without  any  insulting  air  of  protection,  held  the 
bridle  of  Frank's  horse,  to  keep  him  quite  still  while 
Frank  looked  in  at  the  noisy  crowd  to  make  his  choice; 
he  chose  a  Bantam  cock,  and  a  game  chicken,  and 
thanked  the  farmer,  Avho  promised  to  send  them  home 
for  him  in  the  morning. 

As  they  rode  away,  his  father  asked  Frank  why  he 
had  chosen  these  preferably  to  all  others :  and  Frank 
answered  that  he  wanted  them  to  explain  to  Mary  what 
was  meant  by  the  "  Bantam's  vile  pantaloons,"  and  by 
the  spurs  of  the  game  chicken :  which  were  mentioned 
in  the  description  of  these  birds,  in  some  lines  in  "  The 
Peacock  at  Home,"  which  she  had  not  understood,  be- 
cause she  had  never  seen  either  of  the  birds  described* 


FRANK.  ^  211 

<  His  father  asked  Frank  if  he  could  remfember  the 
lines;  Frank,  after  a  few  moments'  recollection,  re- 
peated, 

" '  They  censured  the  bantam  for  strutting  and  crowing 

In  those  vile  pantaloons,  which  he  fancied  looked  knowing'; 
And  a  want  of  decorum  caused  many  demurs 
Against  the  game  chicken,  for  coming  in  spurs.' " 

"  Papa,  you  see,"  said  Frank,  "  that  I  am  able  to  rec- 
ollect verses  on  horseback  now,  though  the  first  day  I 
could  think  of  nothing  but  managing  the  horse  and  my- 
self." 

"And,"  said  his  father,  "if  I  mistake  not,  you  had 
some  little  difficulty  in  managing  the  horse  and  your- 
self just  now  in  the  chickenyard,  against  your  old  ene- 
my, the  turkey-cock ;  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you  came  oflf 
victorious ;  and  I  am  glad  to  perceive  that  you  can  turn 
your  mind  quickly  from  yourself  to  your  friends." 

Frank,  a  little  elated  by  his  father's  praise,  now  began 
"  to  fight  his  battles  o'er  again,"  and  to  ridicule  his  old 
enemy,  the  turkey-cock,  for  his  extreme  cowardice. 

"  I  observe,"  said  he,  "  that  when  I  am  not  frightened, 
Felix  seems  to  be  less  afraid." 

'"Tes,"  said  his  father,  "  ahorse  soon  learns  to  know 
whether  his  rider  be  afraid  of  him  or  not ;  he  is  unwil- 
ling to  obey  a  cowardly  rider." 

"  How  does  the  horse  find  out  when  the  rider  is  cow- 
ardly r'  asked  Frank. 

"  Probably,  when  the  man  or  boy  is  afraid,  he  teases 
the  horse  by  continually  moving  the  bridles;  or  the 
horse  perceives  the  rider's  alarm  by  some  awkwardness 
in  his  manner  of  sitting,  and  by  some  motions  or  tre- 
mour  uneasy  to  the  animal." 

Frank  took  out  his  handkerchief  to  blow  his  nose,  an 
operation  which  he  performed  so  as  to  show  that  he 
was  quite  at  ease  concerning  the  effect  the  noise  or 
fluttering  of  the  handkerchief  might  have  upon  Felix. 

"  Papa,"  said  he,  "  the  first  day  I  was  upon  Felix  he 
would  not  let  me  blow  my  nose.  That  is,  I  could  not 
-blow  it  in  comfort;  because  he  could  not  bear  the  rust- 
ling of  my  handkerchief,  nor  the  sight  of  it ;  but  now  he 
is  used  to  it." 

*'  Yes,  and  you  are  used  to  him." 

"  Papa,  did  you  hear  me  talking  to  Felix  in  the  farm- 
yard I" 


212 


FRANK. 


"  Yes,  I  did,  but  you  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it ;  foi 
the  greatest  heroes,  in  the  greatest  dangers,  have  al- 
ways been  in  the  habit  of  talking  to  their  horses,  as  if 
they  could  comprehend  all  their  arguments.  By-and- 
by,  in  Homer's  Iliad,  you  will  read  Achilles'  and  Hec- 
tor's fine  speeches  to  their  horses,  and  many  others,  es- 
pecially one  of  a  young  gentleman  called  Archilochus ; 
who  will,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  very  much  please  you, 
Frank." 

"  Will  he,  sir  1  But  it  will  be  a  great  while  before  I 
«hall  be  able  to  read  Homer.  I  was  going  to  say  an- 
other thing  about  myself  and  Felix,  papa." 

*'  Say  it,  then." 

"  In  being  a  man,  papa,  besides  being  a  reasonable 
creature,  I  have  another  great  advantage  over  Felix ;  he 
must  be  beaten  or  spurred  to  make  him  go  on  in  dan- 
ger ;  but  we  have  the  feeling  of  honour,  and  the  fear  of 
disgrace,  which  sort  of  fear  conquers  the  other  sort  of 
fear.  I  do  not  express  it  well,  but  you  know  what  I 
mean,  papa." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  do ;  but  it  is  said  that  horses  feel 
shame  and  emulation.  Don't  you  recollect  some  an- 
ecdotes which  Colonel  Birch  told  us,  about  horses  in 
battler' 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Frank,  "  I  did  not  hear  much  that 
Colonel  Birch  said  that  day ;  because  it  was  ray  day 
of—" 

Frank  paused,  and,  after  a  short  silence  on  both  sides, 
his  father  resumed. 

"  Perhaps  horses  may  feel  shame  and  emulation,  and 
something  like  what  we  call  pride,  or  a  sense  of  ^ory: 
and  some  are  so  obedient,  that  they  seem  almost  to  act 
from  a  sense  of  duty ;  but  I  never  heard  of  a  horse, 
Frank,  which  had  formed  and  kept  a  resolution  to  cure 
himself  of  his  faults,  or  to  conquer  his  fears." 

Frank  smiled. 

"  And  now,  papa,"  said  he,  patting  Felix,  "  may  I  give 
him  a  good  canter  along  this  pretty  lane  1" 

"  Yes ;  away  with  you  !"  said  his  father ;  and  away 
they  cantered  along  the  lane,  till  they  saw  at  some  dis- 
tance a  fire  on  the  road,  at  the  bottom  of  a  hill  which 
they  were  going  to  descend. 

"  Papa,  do  you  see  those  flames  1"  cried  Frank.  "  Let 
us  ride  on,  and  inquire  what  is  the  matter.  Perhapa 
gome  bouse  is  on  fire." 


FRANK-  213 

**  No,"  said  his  father,  "  I  think  it  is  only  a  fire  made 
by  gipsies ;  I  see  some  brown  rags  fluttering  by  the  side 
of  the  bank,  which  looks  like  the  hut  of  gipsies." 

"  But  look,  look !  how  high  the  flames  rise !"  said 
Frank.  "  They  are  throwing  something  out  of  the  hut 
upon  the  fire." 

"  Straw,  probably,"  said  his  father;  "they  are  burn- 
ing their  straw  bedding.  It  is  very  dangerous  to  make 
such  a  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  road." 

"  And  such  a  narrow  road,  too,"  said  Frank ;  *'  there 
is  no  room  to  pass,  papa.  The  wind  is  blowing  the 
flames  all  on  my  side,  and  the  whole  passage  on  your 
side,  between  the  fire  and  the  hut,  is  filled  with  kettles 
and  stools-  It  is  impossible  to  pass,  and  horses  do  not 
like  fire ;  Felix  does  not,  I  am  sure  :  look  at  his  ears !" 

"  Stop,  Frank,"  saiid  his  father ;  "  this  fire  is  enough 
to  frighten  any  horse ;  stop !" 

Frank  would  willingly  have  obeyed ;  but  just  then  a 
man  drove  a  cart  through  the  gate  from  a  field  behind 
them,  and  came  down  the  hill  making  a  jingling  noise, 
which  alarmed  Felix.  A  fresh  blaze  rose  up.  Felix 
reared. 

"  Frank !  keep  your  seat !  that's  well !  Now  to  the 
right,  turn  him !  follow  me !  leap !" 

Frank  followed  his  father,  and  leaped  over  a  low  wall 
which  divided  the  lane  from  a  field,  and  found  himself 
safe  on  his  horse's  back  in  the  field,  out  of  sight  of  the 
fire,  and  out  of  hearing  of  the  cart.  Felix  stood  as  quiet 
as  a  lamb,  trembling  a  little.  Frank  did  not  tremble, 
and  enjoyed  his  successful  leap. 

"  How  lucky  it  was,  father,  that  you  saw  that  wall, 
and  thought  of  leaping  over  it.  I  never  thought  of  it — 
I  never  saw  it!  I  saw  nothing  but  the  fire,  and  heard 
nothing  but  the  cart ;  but  I  hope,  papa,  I  behaved  toler- 
ably well,  and  sat  Felix  when  he  reared,  and  when  he 
leaped.     Is  not  it  a  pretty  good  leap  for  me,  papa  1" 

Frank  was  so  well  pleased  with  himself  that  he  re- 
quired not  even  his  father's  answers ;  he  exercised  him- 
self in  leaping  over  every  little  mound  in  his  way,  and 
even  went  out  of  his  way  to  practise  leaping  over  any 
which  he  could  see  on  the  common ;  till,  at  last,  his 
father  reminded  him  that  they  must  make  the  best  of 
their  way  home. 

"  Well  then,  papa,"  said  Frank,  ranging  himself  be- 
side his  father, "  now  we  can  talk  a  Uttle.    Papa,  there 


214  FRANK. 

is  a  great  pleasure  in  conquering  difficulties,  and  in 
conquering — " 

"  Fear,  do  you  mean  ■?" 

"  Yes,  papa,  just  the  word,  only  I  did  not  like  to  say  it." 

"  But  do  you  think,  papa,  that  grown  up  men,  and 
really  brave  men,  began  by  being  afraid  when  they  were 
little  boys  V 

"  Yes ;  but  they  must  have  learned  to  conquer  their 
fears  when  they  were  boys,  or  they  would  never  have 
been  able  to  conquer  them  when  they  became  men." 

"  But,  papa,  do  you  mean  that  after  they  grow  up  to 
be  brave  men  they  feel  afraid  sometimes,  and  must  con- 
quer their  fears  ]" 

"  Yes,  our  friend  Colonel  Birch  will  tell  you,  that  the 
first  time  he  went  into  battle  he  felt  very  differently 
from  what  he  did  after  he  had  been  in  two  or  three  bat- 
tles :  all  who  have  sufficient  courage  to  speak  the  truth 
Avould  say  the  same.  One  of  the  bravest  of  our  English 
generals,  whose  history  you  will  some  time  or  other 
read,  said  that  every  man  would  be  a  coward  if  he  dared. 
But  a  man  of  honour  feels  what  you  expressed  a  little 
while  ago,  that  the  greater  fear  conquers  the  lesser; 
that  the  fear  of  danger  or  of  death  is  less  than  the  fear 
of  disgrace." 

"  Disgrace .'"  repeated  Frank.  "  Papa,  I  remember 
the  first  terrible  idea  I  ever  had  of  disgrace  was  from 
hearing  you  say  of  some  general,  who  had  run  away 
and  behaved  like  a  coward — What  a  disgrace !  I  hope," 
continued  Frank,  "  1  shall  be  a  very  brave  man  when  I 
grow  up ;  at  any  rate,  papa,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  be 
cowardly  on  horseback :  because,  before  that  time,  I 
shall  be  well  used  to  riding.  But,  papa,  by-the-by,  one 
day  last  summer,  when  we  were  out  in  the  boat,  I  was 

surprised  to  see  that  Mr. ,  you  know  who,  was 

frightened  when  he  was  in  the  boat,  and  yet  he  is  never 
frightened  on  horseback.  And  when  we  came  to  land, 
that  captain  of  the  ship  who  had  been  with  us,  and  who 
liad  laughed  at  the  poor  man  for  looking  alarmed  when- 
ever the  boat  moved,  was  himself  frightened  when  he 
was  on  horseback." 

"  Very  true,  Frank,"  said  his  father.  "  It  seems  that 
being  accustomed  to  one  kind  of  danger  does  not  pre- 
vent a  person  from  being  afraid  in  any  danger  that  is 
new,  and  does  not  always  even  prevent  him  from  fan- 
cying that  there  is  danger  where  there  is  none." 


FRANK.  215 

*'  That  is  what  I  observed  when  I  was  a  very  little 
boy,  papa,  though  I  could  not  then  express  it  rightly  in 
words.  It  was  the  same  thing  that  I  observed  the  even- 
ing when  I  was  afraid  of  going  over  the  narrow  bridge, 
because  I  had  never  done  it  before,  though  not  afraid 
of  going  up  the  ladder ;  and  when  I  was  surprised  to 
see  the  poor  woman,  who  had  been  frightened  about  the 
ladder,  go  bravely  over  the  bridge.  Father,  I  think  I 
ought  to  be  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  dangers  before  I 
grow  up  to  be  a  man." 

"  All  sorts !  That  would  be  difficult,  if  not  impossi- 
ble, Frank.  Consider  all  the  varieties  of  dangers  there 
are  in  this  world,  by  sea  and  by  land.  Would  you  have 
me  ride,  run,  and  sail  about  with  you — be  shipwrecked, 
and  go  into  battle,  &c.,  to  accustom  you  to  all  sorts  of 
dangers  V 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  laughing,  "  that  would  be  impos- 
sible ;  and  foolish,  if  it  were  possible.  But,  papa,  I 
ought  to  be  accustomed  to  all  the  common  dangers  that 
boys  or  men  are  likely  to  meet  with." 

"There  is  some  sense  in  that,  Frank." 

"  But,  after  all,  I  should  never  even  then  be  secure 
of  not  being  afraid  in  any  uncommon  danger,  or  in  any 
that  was  new  to  me." 

•'  Being  accustomed  to  danger  of  different  kinds, 
though  a  great  advantage,  is  not  absolutely  necessary 
to  make  human  creatures  brave.  Fear  may  be  con- 
quered, not  only  by  being  accustomed  to  danger,  but  by 
any  affection  or  motive  which  is  stronger  than  the  fear. 
On  some  occasions  the  most  timid  women  become 
brave ;  for  instance,  mothers,  when  their  children  are 
in  danger." 

"  And,  papa — I  think,  papa — I  hope,  papa,  that  though 
I  am  but  a  little  boy,  if  I  saw  ray  mother  in  any  danger, 
I  should  quite  forget  myself." 

"  I  think  you  would,  Frank.  Then  you  feel  already 
that  strong  affection  can  conquer  fear,  even  in  a  boy  as 
young  as  you  are." 


While  Frank's  mind  was  still  intent  upon  the  conver- 
sation he  had  had  with  his  father  about  courage,  he 
listened  to  every  anecdote  upon  this  subject  which  he 
heard  related  in  conversation  or  read  from  books. 


21 B  FRANK. 

One  evening,  when  his  father  was  readmg  to  his  moth- 
er some  new  book  of  travels  in  Italy,  his  attention  was 
caught,  in  a  description  of  St.  Peter's  Church  in  Rome, 
by  an  account  of  some  young  Englishmen  of  the  party 
who  went  to  see  it,  who  determined  to  see  more  of  it 
than  any  one  had  seen  before ;  and  who,  when  their 
female  companions  stopped,  after  having  reached  the 
top  of  the  cupola,  determined  to  scramble  up  the  outside 
of  the  gilt  ball,  and  to  stand  on  its  summit.  This,  with 
much  difficulty  and  danger,  they  accomplished.  Their 
return  and  descent  were  still  more  hazardous ;  for,  at  the 
under  parts  of  the  ball,  they  were  obliged  to  crawl  on 
their  hands  and  feet,  with  their  faces  upward,  much  in 
the  manner  that  a  fly  crawls  upon  the  ceiling.  Frank 
and  Mary  listened  to  this  description  with  breathless 
anxiety. 

"  They  are  down  and  safe,"  said  Frai& ;  "  I  am  glad 
of  it ;  how  very  brave  they  were." 

"1  am  very  glad  they  are  safe  down,"  said  Mary; 
"  but  I  think  they  were  very  foolish  to  go  up." 

"  Not  at  all  foolish,  my  dear ;  consider  they  were 
men,"  said  Frank ;  "  it  is  the  business  of  men  to  be 
courageous — is  not  it,  papa  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  be  courageous,  but  not  to  be  rash,"  said  his 
father ;  "  or  to  hazard  their  lives  without  any  sufficient 
or  useful  object." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  think,  papa,"  said  Mary ; 
"  and  if  I  had  been  there  I  should  have  been  so  afraid 
that  Frank  would  have  gone  up !" 

Frank  said  he  should  certainly  have  liked  to  go  up ; 
that  he  should  not  have  liked  to  have  been  left  behind, 
even  if  there  had  been  nothing  much  worth  seeing ;  he 
should  have  been  afraid  that  the  other  people  would 
have  thought  him  cowardly  if  he  had  refused  to  go. 
Besides,  he  should  like  to  have  it  to  say  that  he  had 
been  as  liigh  as  they  had  been,  and  higher  than  anybody 
else  had  been  before.  And  that,  after  all,  whether  the 
thing  was  foolish  or  not,  it  was  certainly  a  proof  of 
courage. 

This  his  father  allowed,  and  said  that  all  Frank's 
feelings  were  very  natural;  but  that  he  admired  courage 
more  when  it  was  shown  for  some  useful  purpose. 

"  For  instance,"  said  he,  laying  aside  the  book  he  was 
reading,  and  taking  up  the  newspaper,  "  in  this  day's 
paper  here  is  an  accoimt  of  a  fire,  and  of  a  man  who 


SHRANK.  21 1 

Saved  the  life  of  two  children  by  putting  himself  in  a 
most  perilous  situation.  The  children  had  been  left  in 
an  upper  room,  the  staircase  had  been  burnt  down,  and 
there  was  no  passage  to  the  room  but  by  a  single  rafter ; 
across  which,  through  flames  and  smoke,  this  brave 
man  ventured — snatched  up  the  screaming  childreuj 
and  carrying  one  under  each  arm,  crossed  again  the 
narrow  path,  and  brought  them  down  in  safety  to  their 
mother." 

Frank  exclaimed  that  he  would  much  rather  have 
been  this  man  than  he  that  went  to  the  top  of  the  gilt 
ball. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mary,  "  and  though  it  was  so  very 
dangerous,  I  should  be  glad  you  had  done  thiSj  Frank. 
I  hope  you  will  do  some  such  thing  when  you  grow  up, 
if  ever  you  are  at  a  fire.  I  should  not  like  to  be  by  to 
see  ;  but  I  should  like  very  much  to  hear  of  it." 

The  next  day  Frank  amused  himself  by  practising 
Walking  on  the  narrowest  planks  he  could  find,  which 
he  supported  by  a  stool  at  each  end ;  and  when  he  could 
walk  steadily  on  this  narrow  path,  he  exchanged  the 
stools  for  high  trestles,  which  had  been  used  by  a  man 
who  had  been  papering  one  of  the  rooms ;  and,  after 
fastening  the  ends  of  his  plank  down  firm  to  the  trestleSj 
Mary  spread  cloaks  and  sofa-cushions  underneath,  to 
represent  the  feather-beds  and  blankets  the  people 
dragged  under  the  passage,  to  save  the  man,  if  possiblOj 
if  he  should  fall.  And  Frank  then  acted  the  man  saving 
the  life  of  the  two  children,  which  he  performed  with, 
two  of  Mary's  dolls,  with  great  applause. 

Some  days  afterward,  Frank  heard  a  new  and  true 
anecdote  of  the  courage  of  a  boy.  It  was  told  to  him 
by  the  mother  of  the  boy,  and  it  had  lately  happened,  so 
that  every  particular  was  fresh  in  her  recollection.  Hia 
father  was  one  day  walking  in  a  field  where  a  bull  was 
grazing ;  the  bull,  he  thought,  was  quite  tame,  and  he 
had  often  been  accustomed  to  caress  him.  This  day, 
the  gentleman  saw  the  bull  following  him,  as  he  thought, 
in  play ;  but,  as  he  was  in  haste  home,  he  took  up  a  clod 
of  grass,  and  threw  it  at  the  bullj  to  drive  him  away ; 
still  the  bull  followed:  the  gentleman  threw  another 
and  a  larger  sod,  but  still  the  bull  followed,  and  came 
quite  close  behind  him.  The  gentleman  took  hold  of 
his  horn  to  turn  him  aside ;  but  the  bull,  instead  of  giv- 
K  19 


218  FRANK. 

ing  way,  tried  to  toss  him  up  in  the  air.  The  gentle- 
man, however,  who  was  a  very  strong,  large  man,  kept 
firm  hold  of  the  horn,  and  walked  on  some  yards  in  this 
manner,  the  bull  every  now  and  then  trying  to  throw 
him  up ;  and  he  keeping  down  the  horn,  and  calling  his 
men  to  his  assistance,  and  whistling  for  the  dogs  who 
guarded  the  cattle ;  but  neither  dogs  nor  men  heard  him. 
He  was  seen  only  by  a  maidservant,  who  was  standing 
on  the  steps  of  the  house,  with  an  infant  in  her  arms, 
and  who  was  so  terrified  that  she  could  neither  stir 
nor  speak ;  at  this  instant  his  son,  who  was  about  nine 
years  old,  playing  before  the  door,  looked  up  and  saw 
his  father  struggling  with  the  bull.  Never  thinking  of 
the  danger  for  himself,  he  ran  to  him ;  meantime,  his 
father's  strength  being  exhausted,  he  gave  up  his  hold 
of  the  animal,  and  ran  towards  a  tree  to  shelter  himself 
from  him ;  but,  just  as  he  reached  the  tree,  he  fell. 
The  bull  made  a  thrust  at  him  with  one  horn ;  it  went 
against  his  watch,  which  saved  him  for  that  time.  But 
the  bull  had  his  two  fore  feet  on  his  breast,  and  seemed 
just  meditating  another  thrust  when  his  son  came  up. 
The  boy  had  no  means  of  defence,  no  stick,  no  stone, 
nothing  to  throw  at  the  bull;  but  he  snatched  from  his 
head  his  leather  cap,  and  threw  it  with  such  good  aim  that 
it  hit  the  bull  just  across  the  eyes  as  he  stooped  to  make 
another  thrust ;  the  animal,  frightened,  turned  aside.  The 
dogs  came  up,  the  men  followed,  the  bull  was  driven 
away,  and  the  father's  life  was  thus  saved  by  the  cour- 
age and  presence  of  mind  of  his  little  son. 

Frank  liked  this  more  than  he  could  express;  he 
stood  quite  silent  in  admiration.  Some  one  suggested 
that  perhaps  the  boy  was  not  aware  of  the  risk  he  ran. 
The  boy's  mother,  who  told  the  story,  said  that  she  was 
sure  he  was  fully  aware,  at  the  time,  of  the  danger, 
which  she  thought  was  proved  by  his  emotion  after- 
ward. He  was  so  exhausted  by  the  exertion,  and  by 
the  terror  he  had  felt  for  his  father,  that  he  could  not 
sleep  quietly  the  whole  night  afterward ;  but  continu- 
ally wakened,  crying,  and  saying  that  he  saw  the  bull 
before  him,  going  to  toss  his  father. 

This  last  part  of  the  story  Frank  did  not  qmte  ap- 
prove ;  he  looked  ashamed  of  the  boy's  crying ;  and 
said  that  he  thought  in  his  place  he  should  never  have 
cried  when  it  was  all  over;  he  should  have  rejoiced, 


FRANK.  'Si^ 

and  should  have  been  too  happy,  and  perhaps  too  proud 
of  himself,  to  cry. 

Frank's  mother,  however,  assured  him  that  he  could 
not  tell  beforehand  what  his  own  feelings  might  be  in 
such  a  new  situation.  Frank  was  glad  to  hear  his 
mother  say  this ;  and  he  agreed  with  her,  that  it  was 
certainly  a  proof  that  the  boy  was  not  vain  of  what  he 
had  done,  and  that  his  affection  for  his  father  must  be 
very  great  when  it  could  conquer  so  much  fear. 

The  relation  of  this,  and  of  many  other  instances  of 
courage  and  presence  of  mind  in  young  people,  assisted 
Frank  in  forming  his  judgment  on  the  subject. 

Among  the  various  instances  which,  in  the  course  of 
a  few  days,  his  mother  found  for  him,  none  struck  him 
so  much  as  the  account  of  the  behaviour  of  a  father  and 
son,  who  were  both  dangerously  wounded,  at  the  same 
time,  on  board  the  same  ship,  in  an  engagement  at  sea. 
The  son  was  a  very  young  man,  not  above  sixteen  years 
old;  beloved  by  everybody  who  knew  him,  especially 
by  the  admiral,  on  board  whose  ship  he  was.  The  sur- 
geon, who  attended  both  father  and  son,  gave  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  the  circumstances,  which  Frank's 
mother  began  to  read  to  him ;  but  which,  he  said,  if  she 
pleased,  he  would  rather  finish  to  himself. 

"  When  Admiral  Watson  had  the  unhappiness  to  see 
both  father  and  son  fall  in  the  same  instant,  he  imme-' 
diately  went  up  to  them,  and,  by  the  most  tender  and 
pathetic  expressions,  tried  to  alleviate  their  distress. 
The  captain,  who  had  observed  his  son's  leg  to  be  hang- 
ing only  by  the  skin,  said  to  the  admiral,  '  Indeed,  sir, 
this  was  a  cruel  shot,  to  knock  down  both  the  father 
and  the  son !' 

"  Mr.  Watson's  heart  was  too  full  to  make  the  least 
reply ;  he  only  ordered  them  both  to  be  immediately 
carried  to  the  surgeon.  The  captain  was  first  brought 
down  to  me ;  he  told  me  how  dangerously  his  poor 
Willy  had  been  wounded.  Presently  after,  the  brave 
youth  himself  appeared ;  his  eyes  overflowing  with 
tears,  not  for  his  own,  but  for  his  father's  fate.  I  la- 
boured to  assure  him  that  his  father's  wound  was  not 
dangerous,  and  this  assertion  was  confinned  by  the  cap- 
tain himself.  He  seemed  not  to  believe  either  of  us, 
until  he  asked  me,  upon  my  honour,  and  1  had  repeated  to 
him  my  first  assurance,  in  the  most  positive  manner. 
He  then  immediately  became  calm  ;  but  on  my  atterapt- 
K2 


■220  FRANK. 

ing  to  inquire  into  the  condition  of  his  wound,^he  so- 
licitously asked  me  if  I  had  dressed  his  father^  for  he 
could  not  think  of  my  touching  him  before  his  father's 
wound  had  been  taken  care  of.  1  assured  him  that  the 
captain  had  been  already  properly  attended  to-:  *  Then,' 
replied  the  generous  youth,  pointing  to  a  fellow-suiferer, 
*  pray,  sir,  look  to  and  dress  this  poor  man,  who  is 
groaning  so  sadly  beside  me !'  I  told  him  that  he 
already  had  been  taken  care  of,  and  begged  of  him,  with 
some  importunity,  that  I  might  now  have  liberty  to  ex- 
amine his  wound :  he  submitted  to  it,  and  cahnly  ob- 
served, '  Sir,  I  fear  you  must  amputate  above  the  joint;' 
I  replied, '  My  dear,  I  must !'  Upon  which  he  clasped 
both  his  hands  together,  and  lifting  his  eyes  in  the  most 
devout  and  fervent  manner  towards  heaven,  he  offered 
the  following  short  but  earnest  petition :  '  Good  God ! 
do  thou  enable  me  to  behave  in  my  present  circumstan- 
ces worthy  my  father's  son.' 

"  When  he  had  ended  this  ejaculatory  prayer,  he  told 
me  that  he  was  all  submission ;  I  then  performed  the 
operation  above  the  joint  of  the  knee ;  but,  during  the 
whole  time,  the  intrepid  youth  never  spoke  a  word  or 
uttered  a  groan  that  could  be  heard  at  a  yard  distance. 

"  You  may  imagine  what,  in  this  interval,  the  captain 
felt,  who  lay  just  by  his  darling  son ;  but  whatever  were 
his  feelings,  there  was  no  expression  of  them  but  silent 
trickling  tears.  The  bare  recollection  of  this  scene, 
even  at  this  distant  time,  is  too  painful  for  me. 

"  The  son  remained  with  me  at  the  hospital :  the 
father  was  lodged  at  the  house  of  a  friend.  For  the 
first  eight  or  nine  days  I  gave  the  father  great  comfort 
by  carrying  him  joyful  tidings  of  his  boy ;  and  in  the 
same  manner  I  gratified  the  son  with  regard  to  the  fa- 
ther. But,  alas  I  from  that  time  all  the  good  symptoms 
which  had  hitherto  attended  this  unparalleled  youth, 
"began  to  disappear  !  The  captain  easily  guessed  by  my 
silence  and  countenance  the  true  state  his  boy  was  in, 
3ior  did  he  ever  ask  me  more  than  two  questions  con- 
cerning him ;  so  tender  was  the  subject  to  us  both,  and 
«o  unwilling  was  his  generous  mind  to  add  to  my  dis- 
tress. The  first  was  on  the  tenth  day,  in  these  words : 
'  How  long,  my  friend,  do  you  think  my  Billy  may  re- 
main in  a  state  of  uncertainty  V  I  replied,  that  if  he 
lived  to  the  fifteenth  day  after  the  operation,  there  would 
be  the  strongest  hopes  of  his  recovery.    On  the  thir- 


FRANK.  "  2S1 

teenth,  however,  he  died;  and  on  the  sixteenth  the 
brave  man,  looking  me  steadfastly  in  the  face,  said, 
'  Well,  sir,  how  fares  it  with  my  boy  V  I  could  make 
him  no  reply ;  and  he  immediately  attributed  my  silence 
to  the  real  cause.  He  cried  bitterly,  squeezed  me  by 
the  hand,  and  begged  me  to  leave  him  for  one  half  hour, 
when  he  wished  to  see  me  again ;  and  assured  me  that 
I  should  find  him  with  a  different  countenance.  I  punc- 
tually complied  with  his  desire ;  and  when  I  returned  to 
him  he  appeared  perfectly  calm  and  resigned." 


After  Frank's  "  day  of  dangers,"  as  Mary  called  it, 
he  had  many  rides  with  his  father  without  any  dangers 
or  difficulties  ;  but  though  he  had  no  adventures,  he 
generally  saw  or  heard  something,  with  which  he  en- 
tertained Mary  at  his  return. 

One  day  in  autumn,  as  he  was  riding  with  his  father 
near  the  banks  of  a  river,  he  saw,  in  some  low  marshy 
ground,  a  large  plantation  of  tall  thin  trees :  Frank  asked 
his  father  why  people  planted  such  ugly  thin  trees,  or 
rather  switches. 

"  Because,"  answered  his  father,  "  ugly  as  they  are, 
they  are  very  useful ;  those  switches,  as  you  call  them, 
are  sallows,  or  osiers,  and  a  plantation  of  them  is  called 
an  osiery." 

While  they  stopped  to  look  at  it,  a  man  came  from 
the  osiery  with  a  bill-hook  and  a  large  iron  hoop  in  his 
hand.  Frank  saw  that  this  man  was  the  gardener,  whom 
he  used  to  call  the  gardener  of  the  green  gate.  This 
gardener  smiled,  and  was  glad  to  see  Frank ;  his  liking 
for  him  had  not  only  lasted,  but  had  increased ;  because 
Frank  had  continued  to  take  care  not  to  be  troublesome, 
and  whenever  he  went  to  see  his  garden,  was  eager  to 
observe  and  to  learn  what  was  going  forward.  The  gar- 
dener now  had  with  him  some  boys  who  were  cutting 
long  twigs  of  osiers,  and  laying  them  in  heaps.  Some 
of  these  were  very  thin,  some  thicker;  and  they  had 
different  coloured  barks.  The  gardener  told  Frank  that 
some  were  to  be  used  for  making  large  coarse  baskets, 
others  for  smaller  and  finer  baskets,  some  for  making 
hurdles,  and  others,  which  were  very  slight  and  pliant, 
were  ser\  iceable  to  hira  for  tying  branches  of  fruit-trees. 
19* 


222  FRANK. 

Of  all  these  and  many  more  uses  for  willows  which  the 
gardener  mentioned,  the  making  of  baskets  most  inter- 
ested Frank ;  he  should  like  very  much,  he  said,  to  see 
how  they  were  made.  The  gardener  told  him  that  he 
had  a  son  who  was  expert  in  basket-making ;  that  the 
boy  was  now  at  work  in  a  field  near  his  house,  by  which 
they  would  pass  on  their  road  home ;  and  that  if  they 
could  call  on  him,  the  boy  could  easily  show  Frank  how 
to  set  about  the  work.  Frank  gladly  accepted  this  offer, 
and  the  gardener,  who  was  going  home,  took  a  short  way 
across  the  fields,  so  that  he  arrived  before  Frank  and 
his  father. 

They  saw  the  boy  at  work  in  a  new-mown  meadow ; 
they  alighted  and  went  to  him.  He  began  a  new  bas- 
ket, to  show  them  the  work,  from  the  begimiing.  He 
stuck  a  number  of  sallows  in  a  circle,  at  equal  distances 
in  the  grass ;  the  circle  was  the  size  which  he  wished 
the  basket  to  be.  He  then  began  to  weave  other  sal- 
lows between  these,  in  a  manner  which  Frank  easily 
learned  to  imitate ;  and  the  boy  showed  him  how  the 
bottom  of  the  basket  was  made  firm,  and  how  the  top 
and  the  handle  were  finished. 

While  Frank  was  at  work,  the  gardener  went  with 
his  father  to  see  his  nursery. 

"  You  see,  papa,"  said  Frank  to  his  father,  as  he  return- 
ed with  the  gardener,  and  as  he  showed  him  the  basket 
of  which  he  had  made  the  greater  part  himself;  "you 
see  that  I  shall  not  be  the  idle  gentleman,  but  the  bas- 
ket-maker ;  and  if  ever  I  am  cast  away  upon  a  desert 
island,  I  shall  make  beautiful  crowns  for  the  king  of 
the  savages,  and  be  a  great  man  among  them." 

The  gardener  smiled,  and  so  did  his  son,  who  had 
read  in  Sandford  and  Merton  the  story  of  the  basket- 
maker  to  which  Frank  alluded.  The  gardener,  who 
was  an  intelligent  Scotchman,  observed  "  that  it  would 
scarcely  be  worth  any  one's  while  to  learn  basket-ma* 
king  merely  for  the  chance  of  being  called  upon  to  make 
crowns  for  kings  of  the  savages. 

"  But,"  continued  he,  "  it  is  no  bad  thing  for  a  young 
gentleman,  who  is  not  obhged  to  live  by  the  work  of  his 
hands,  to  learn  the  use  of  his  hands,  as  I  may  call  it. 
Even  the  knowing  such  a  simple  thing  as  how  to  make 
a  basket,  may  be  of  service  to  him  ,it  some  odd  time  in 
life.  In  these  days  there  is  no  knowing  to  what  the 
richest  gentleman  born  may  be  reduced. 


FRANK.  223 

"  But  a  few  years  ago  I  remember  numbers  of  poor 
French,  of  the  highest  quality,  and  who  had  had  the  finest 
fortunes  in  their  own  country,  when  they  were  banished 
from  France  and  their  fortunes  taken  from  them,  were 
supported  by  the  work  of  their  own  hands,  or  that  of 
their  servants.  One  old  count  and  countess,  I  recollect 
in  particular,  were  kept  from  starving  by  the  industry 
of  a  servant-boy  who  had  formerly  been  in  their  family, 
and  who  understood  basket-making,  and  worked  with 
the  basket-maker  to  whom  I  sold  my  osiers.  I  used  to 
see  him  frequently:  and  the  little  count,  a  boy  not 
above  Master  Frank's  age,  had  the  sense  to  learn  too, 
and  worked  hard  for  his  father  and  mother." 

"  And  this  did  really  happen,"  said  Frank ;  "  and  but 
a  few  years  ago  !  I  am  afraid  that  I  should  not  be  able 
to  do  any  thing  for  my  father  and  mother  if  they  were 
reduced  to  want." 

"  But  it  was  not  those  who  laboured  by  their  hands 
only  that  could  do  the  most  for  themselves  or  their 
friends.  Some  of  them  could  do  what  I  call  head-work ; 
some  spoke  and  wrote  their  own  language,  and  had 
learned  their  French  grammar ;  and  they  earned  bread 
for  themselves  and  their  families  by  teaching  French 
grammatically.  Others,  who  knew  music  and  dancing, 
if  they  knew  even  those  things  well,  could  earn  their 
bread.  But  I  did  not  think  so  much  of  them,  being  not 
such  manly  trades.  But  gentlemen,  when  in  distress, 
must  make  the  most  of  the  little  they  know.  I  had 
great  respect  for  a  poor  French  nobleman's  son,  who 
turned  drawing-master,  and  was  obliged  to  work  hard, 
to  my  knowledge,  to  learn  perspective,  before  he  could 
get  himself  employed  in  a  school  in  our  neighbourhood. 
He  did  succeed  at  last,  and  right  glad  he  was,  and  so 
we  were  for  him;  for  he  had  two  sisters  and  an  old 
mother  who  had  no  other  means  of  living  but  what  he 
earned.  They  had  sold  all,  and  were  come  to  the  last 
distress.  They  were  lodged  in  a  garret  in  Litchfield, 
at  the  house  ol  an  uncle  of  mine :  that  is  the  reason  I 
know  so  much  about  them.  I  often  caught  a  glimpse 
of  one  or  other  of  them  on  the  stairs  when  they  came 
out  to  peep  if  their  brother  was  coming  up.  And  what 
joy  I've  seen  in  their  faces  when  it  was  he !  And  what 
disappointment  when  it  was  only  me !  Oh,  he  was  a 
good  and  hard-working  young  man  and  gentleman !" 


824  PRANK. 

"  How  happy  he  must  have  been  to  be  able  to  do  this 
for  his  sisters  and  mother !"  repeated  Frank. 

"  And  for  himself,  or  he  must  have  starved,"  said  the 
gardener.  "  And  starving  is  no  joke  when  it  comes  to 
the  pinch.  However,  as  you  have  never  felt  that  pinch, 
this  notion  cannot  touch  you  much,  Master  Frank," 
added  the  gardener,  laughing. 

"  Do  you  know  any  more  stories  of  these  poor  French 
people  1"  said  Frank;  "  I  should  like  to  hear  more." 

The  gardener  said  that  he  had  heard  hundreds  of  sto- 
ries of  them ;  but  that  he  did  not  recollect  any  more 
that  he  could  say  he  knew  of  his  own  knowledge.  He 
had  seen  the  French  prisoners  at  work  at  Bristol,  and 
had  seen  the  ingenious  toys  and  curious  things,  models 
of  ships,  and  windmills,  and  cannons,  they  made  of  old 
bones,  with  scarce  any  tools  but  their  knives ;  but  he 
beheved,he  said,  that  all  these  knicknacks  were  sold  very 
cheap,  and  that  so  many  could  make  them,  and  there 
was  such  great  competition,  "  you  know,"  said  the  gar- 
dener, turning  to  Frank's  father,  "  that,  work  ever  so 
hard,  they  could  gain  but  little,  not  more  than  what  kept 
them  in  clothes,  and  that  but  barely  ;  for  people's  fancy 
changed  often,  and  the  toys  were  not  bought."  The 
gardener  repeated,  it  was  best  to  stick  to  useful  trades, 
and  the  making  of  such  things  as  must  be  wanted  as 
long  as  the  world  stands,  by  all  people,  of  all  descrip- 
tions, said  he,  glancing  his  eye  at  the  basket  which  his 
youngest  boy  held  in  his  hand.  "  Not  but  what,"  added 
he,  looking  at  his  eldest  son,  "  what  I  said  before  is  true 
too,  that  the  work  of  the  head  is  better  still  than  the 
work  of  the  hands ;  better  paid,  you  know,  sir,  and 
more  respected  and  more  respectable.  My  eldest  boy 
is  breeding  up  to  be  a  surveyor,  and  is  beginning  to  learn 
the  mathematics.  Fetch  your  book,  Andrew,  and  show 
the  gentleman." 

Frank's  father  looked  at  Andrew's  book,  and  was 
pleased ;  and,  to  confirm  what  the  gardener  had  been 
saying,  he  told  another  anecdote  of  a  French  emigrant : 
no  less  a  person  than  the  present  Duke  of  Orleans. 
When  he  was  in  exile  and  in  distress,  during  the  French 
revolution,  he  supported  himself  by  teaching  mathe- 
matics, which  he  had  learned  well  when  a  boy. 

"  He  must  have  learned  well  to  be  able  to  teach  them," 
said  Andrew. 


FRANK.  225 

►  "Ay,  and  wh6n  he  was  to  be  paid  for  teaching  too," 
said  the  gardener ;  "  if  he  had  not  been  able  to  teach 
them  well,  nobody  would  have  employed  him ;  for  it 
was  nothing  to  them  that  he  was  a  French  duke.  then. 
I  suppose,  indeed,  nobody  knew  who  he  was  or  had 
been." 

"  No ;  he  was  obliged  to  conceal  his  name  and  title," 
said  Frank's  father. 

"Then,  Andrew,  he  was  no  more  than  you  yourself, 
standing  there  ;  think  of  that." 

"  And  the  duke  is  not  ashamed  to  own  it  now  ?"  said 
Andrew. 

"  Ashamed !  no,  he  is  proud  of  it,"  answered  Frank's 
father. 

"  As  well  he  may  be,"  said  the  gardener, 

"  There  is  now  in  the  palace  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
in  France,  a  picture,  in  which  he  is  represented  in  the 
midst  of  his  pupils,  in  the  school  where  he  taught. 
Frank,  you  shall  see  a  print  taken  from  this  picture, 
which  is  now  in  the  possession  of  a  friend  of  your 
mother's,  to  whom  it  was  given  by  the  duke  and  dutch- 
ess  of  Orleans." 

Frank,  Andrew,  and  the  gardener  exclaimed  at  once 
that  they  should  like  very  nmch  to  see  this  print. 

Frank  now  stood  with  his  basket  in  his  hand,  looking 
very  thoughtful.  The  gardener  interrupted  his  revery 
by  offering  him  a  fine  provision  of  osiers,  for  making 
baskets  and  fences  of  different  sorts.  The  bundles  of 
osiers  were  so  large  that  he  did  not  know  how  they 
could  be  carried  home ;  but  a  boy  of  nearly  his  own 
age,  who  was  standing  by,  offered  to  carry  them  for 
him. 

The  boy  set  off  with  his  huge  load  of  osiers,  and  the 
gardener  took  Frank  with  his  father  to  see  his  hothouse 
and  greenhouse.  After  which,  they  remounted  their 
horses  and  returned  homewards. 

Frank,  as  they  were  riding  home,  observed  to  his 
father,  that  on  the  labels  of  the  shrubs  and  flowers  he 
had  just  seen,  the  names  that  were  written  were  not  in 
English,  but  in  Latin ;  and  whenever  he  asked  the  name 
of  any  flower  in  the  hothouse,  the  gardener  first  told  it 
to  him  in  Latin,  and  then  in  English.  Frank  asked  the 
reason  of  this.  His  father  answered,  that  it  was  useful 
to  give  names  to  plants  in  a  language  which  could  be 
understood  in  different  countries ;  and  Latin  is  a  sort  of 
K  3 


S26  PRANK. 

universal  language,  which  is  understood  in  all  countries, 
by  all  people  of  a  certain  degree  of  education. 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "  what  you  told  me  about  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  and  what  the  gardener  said  about  the 
poor  French  prisoners  and  emigrants,  and  about  basket- 
making,  and  knicknack-making,  and  particularly  about 
the  different  value  of  hand-work  and  head-work,  makes 
me  consider  that  I  have  not  thought  enough  about  what 
things  will  or  will  not  be  really  useful  to  me  to  learn 
before  I  grow  up  to  be  a  man  and  a  gentleman ;  and  I 
am  determined  to  do  it  directly." 

His  father  said  this  was  a  wise  resolution ;  but  he 
was  a  little  surprised  by  the  extraordinary  gravity  with 
which  Frank  spoke. 

"  The  first  thing  that  I  shall  do  when  I  get  home," 
continued  Frank,  "  shall  be  to  ask  mamma  for  two  ol 
the  largest  sheets  of  paper  she  has  in  her  paper  treas- 
ury ;  and  at  the  top  of  the  one  I  will  write,  or  I  will 
print,  in  large  letters,  man,  and  on  the  other,  woman  ; 
and  I  will  rule  lines  very  close,  and  on  these  two  sheets 
of  paper  I  will  make  two  lists,  one  for  myself,  man ;  and 
the  other  for  Mary,  woman ;  and  under  these  heads  I 
will  put  every  thing  that  we  ought  to  know  or  learn 
before  we  grow  up  to  be  man  and  woman.  I  will  have 
two  columns,  papa,  and  put  those  things  that  we  can- 
not possibly  do  without  in  one  column,  and  those  that 
we  might  like  to  have,  but  that  we  can  do  without,  in 
the  other.  That  will  be  very  useful,  will  not  it,  papa  1 
and  one  column  I  will  call  must  want,  and  the  other 
may  want. 

"  Some  things  will  be  the  same  for  both  of  us,  papa ; 
for  instance,  truth  goes  under  must  want  for  both  man 
and  woman ;  but  courage,  papa,  goes  under  must  want 
in  my  list,  and  may  want  in  Mary's  ;  or,  perhaps,  it  may 
be  left  out  entirely  in  her  list.     We  will  consider  of  it." 

"  Do  so :  in  the  meantime,  Frank,  consider  a  little 
where  you  are  going.  Do  not  haul  your  horse  about  in 
that  cowpath  from  side  to  side,  or  you  will  throw  him 
down." 

"  I  will  take  care,  papa.  Mind  where  you  are  going, 
Felix,  sir.  We  will  begin  our  lists  this  day,  and  Mary 
and  I  can  settle  them  all.  What  do  you  think,  papa  ? 
You  smile  :  you  look  as  if  you  thought  we  could  not  do 
this." 

"  1  think  that  perhaps  you  will  want  a  little  of  your 


THANK.        '  23T 

mother's  assistance  and  mine ;  for,  without  more  expe- 
rience or  knowledge  of  the  world  than  you  two  possess, 
it  will  be  impossible  that  you  should  know  all  that  is 
necessary  to  put  in  or  leave  out  of  your  lists  of  must 
wants  and  may  wants.'''' 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Frank ;  "  for  I  did  not  know  till 
very  lately  that  Latin  grammar  and  Latin  should  go 
under  must  want  for  man,  that  is  for  gentlemen.  By-the- 
by,  papa,  that  gardener,  who  is  not  a  gentleman,  imder- 
stands  Latin." 

"  Yes,  he  knows  the  Latin  names  of  trees,  plants,  and 
flowers." 

"  But,"  answered  Frank,  "  he  knows  a  great  deal 
more.  I  took  up  a  book  that  was  lying  on  a  seat  in  his 
porch,  and  what  do  you  think  it  was,  papa  ]  A  Latin 
book !  a  Latin  poet !" 

"Virgil's, Eclogues,  I  supposed" 

"  Yes  ;  Virgil's  Eclogues  :  how  could  you  guess  it  1" 

"Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Frank  went  on — 

"  His  son  told  me  that  he  not  only  reads  that,  but 
other  Latin  books,  which  he  called  the  classics,  at  his 
leisure  hours,  for  his  amusement !  Think  of  that,  papa !" 

His  father  did  not  'appear  much  surprised,  but  told 
Frank  that  he  hoped  and  believed  that  he  would  some 
time  or  other  read  Virgil  and  all  the  classics  for  his 
amusement.  Frank  asked  his  father  what  he  meant  by 
the  classics.  His  father  began  to  name  to  him  some  of 
those  authors  who  are  called  ancient  classical  writers ; 
but  before  this  list,  with  various  explanations,  was  fin- 
ished, they  saw  the  boy  following  them  who  was  car- 
rying the  willows  home  for  Frank.  He  had  taken  a 
short  way  across  the  fields.  He  had  such  a  load  on  his 
back  that  it  reached  above  his  head  and  below  his 
knees,  and  the  trees  seemed  to  be  moving  forward  of 
themselves.  Frank's  mother  was  walking  down  the 
avenue,  and  said  to  his  father,  when  she  met  them, 
something  which  Frank  did  not  quite  understand :  point- 
ing to  the  boy  and  the  willows  behind  him,  she  said, 

" '  A  moving  wood  doth  come  to  Dunsinane.' " 

"  I  know  that  is  a  quotation,"  said  Frank ;  "  but  I  do 
not  know  from  what  book,  nor  exactly  what  it  means; 
I  wish  that  I  did." 

"  It  is  from  a  play  of  Shakspeare,"  said  his  father. 
"  Shakspeare  is  one  of  the  first  English  classic  authors 


S28  PRANK. 

■which  you  will  read  for  your  amusement  one  of  these 
days,  but  not  yet.  Now  tell  this  moving  wood  where  it 
should  go." 

The  boy  was  directed  to  Frank's  island :  there  his 
load  of  sallows  was  laid  down. 

In  the  eagerness  to  begin  his  basket-making,  Frank 
forgot,  till  late  in  the  evening,  the  two  lists  of  the  must 
wants  and  may  wants  of  man  and  woman  ;  but  the  next 
morning,  it  being  a  rainy  day,  the  work  was  begun  as 
soon  as  the  Latin  lesson  was  finished.  His  mother 
having  furnished  from  her  inexhaustible  bounty  two 
sheets  of  paper,  large  as  Frank's  imagination  could  de- 
sire, he,  and  Mary  under  his  directions,  accomplished 
ruling  them  tolerably  straight,  dividing  each  page  into 
two  columns,  ruled,  contrary  to  good  advice,  with  red 
ink,  so  liquid,  that  it  blotted  much  of  the  space  intended 
to  contain  the  virtues  of  man.  Fatigued  with  ruling, 
for  it  is  a  very  tiresome  business,  as  all  who  have  tried 
it  will  bear  witness,  Frank  went  no  farther  in  his  great 
work,  at  this  sitting,  than  printing  man,  in  large  letters, 
on  his  own  page,  and  woman,  in  equal  size,  on  Mary's. 
The  ensuing  day  was  fine,  but  no  riding  for  Frank  5  his 
father  could  not  take  him  out 'with  him  every  day. 
Basket-making  at  their  island  was  now  a  fine  resource; 
but,  in  their  first  attempt,  the  willows  were  not  stuck  at 
equal  distances,  or  so  as  to  form  a  perfect  circle.  The 
basket  proved  but  a  misshapen  thing,  crooked  in  every 
direction ;  it  could  not  stand,  because  the  bottom  was  so 
round  ;  and  the  handle  was  so  weak  and  so  ill  fastened 
that  it  came  out  the  first  time  Mary  attempted  to  use  it. 

After  this  failure  in  basket-making  Frank  returned  to 
his  lists.  Truth,  honour,  courage,  were  fairly  written 
in  his  best  round  hand  under  the  head  man  |  and  Mary, 
for  woman,  wrote  also  truth  and  honesty  ;  and,  after  con- 
sulting Frank's  mother,  added  modesty  and  good*temper. 
The  next  word  in  Frank's  list  was  written  and  scratch- 
ed out  several  times.  First  it  was  Latin  grammar; 
then  grammar  was  scratched  out,  and  Latin  left ;  then 
Latin  classics  was  put  instead  of  grammar ;  then  learn- 
ing was  written ;  and  at  last  learning  was  to  be  effaced, 
all  but  the  1,  and  literature  to  have  been  put  in  its 
stead ;  but  the  paper  could  not  bear  it ;  there  was  now 
a  hole,  and  Frank's  hands  were  hot,  and  he  grew  impa- 
tient, and  pushed  aside  the  paper,  and  said  that  he 
would  give  it  up  for  this  morning. 


FRANK.  229 

Mary  wrote  patience  in  her  list  before  she  left  the  ta- 
ble.  Frank  urged  her  to  scratch  it  out,  assuring  her 
that  it  was  included  in  good-temper,  a  point  which  she 
seemed  to  doubt ;  for,  as  she  said,  Frank  was  very 
good-tempered,  but  she  did  not  think  that  he  was  al- 
ways patient.  Frank,  feeUng  the  justice  of  this  obser- 
vation, returned  to  his  work,  and  never  quitted  it  till  he 
had  written  the  whole  over  again.  This  time  he  put  in 
patience  and  perseverance  in  his  list  before  Latin  or 
classical  literature.  "  Even  in  our  plays,"  as  Mary  said, 
"  and  in  all  those  things  which  we  do  merely  for  our 
amusement,  we  cannot  succeed  without  patience." 

"  To-morrow  we  will  go  to  our  basket-making  again," 
said  Frank,  "  and  we  will  not  give  it  up." 

In  this  resolution  he  and  Mary  persevered ;  and  after 
the  Latin  lesson  was  finished,  on  those  days  when  his 
father  could  not  take  him  out,  or  when  he  returned 
early  in  the  day  from  his  rides,  at  every  moment's  spare 
time  he  and  Mary  were  at  work,  either  at  their  baskets 
or  at  their  lists. 

"  It  is  very  agreeable,  mamma,"  said  Frank,  "to  have 
employments  both  for  out  of  doors  and  in-doors,  to 
which  we  can  go  constantly,  without  troubling  you  or 
anybody.  And  you  see,  mamma,  we  do  not  begin  new 
things  and  grow  tired,  and  leave  them  in  a  few  days,  as 
you  say  foolish  children  are  apt  to  do.  Look,  mammae 
at  this  basket :  compare  it  with  the  first  that  we  made, 
this  crooked,  tumble-down  thing,  with  the  round  bottom 
and  the  broken-handle.  See  how  much  we  are  impro- 
ved !" 

"  Yes,"  his  mother  said, "  this  is  a  really  good,  strong, 
useful  basket." 

Frank  asked  his  mother  if  she  would  be  so  kind  as  to 
walk  with  them  to  his  old  friend  Mrs.  Wheeler's,  that 
he  might  carry  this  basket  to  her ;  he  wished  to  give  it 
to  her,  because  she  had  given  him  the  first  basket  he 
ever  possessed,  a  little  one  made  of  rushes,  which  had 
been  long  since  destroyed ;  but  the  remembrance  of  the 
kindness  remained  in  Frank's  mind ;  and  his  mother 
wiUingly  walked  with  him  and  Mary  to  the  cottage. 

Mrs.  Wheeler  was  sitting  on  a  stool  before  her  door, 
shelling  peas ;  and  Mary,  holding  their  basket  by  the 
handle,  offered  it  to  her. 

She  smiled  and  thanked  them,  and  seemed  to  like  the 
basket  even  before  she  knew  that  it  was  their  making ; 
20 


830  PRANK. 

and  she  was  surprised  fully  as  much  as  they  expected 
when  she  heard  that  it  was  made  by  them,  and  on  pur- 
pose for  her. 

But  when  Frank  reminded  her  of  the  Uttle  rush  bas- 
ket which  she  had  given  him  long  since,  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes,  and  she  said, 

"  God  bless  you !  God  bless  your  grateful  little  heart ! 
Think  of  his  remembering  that  so  long,  which  I  had 
quite  forgotten !" 

She  gathered  up  the  husks  of  the  peas  which  she  had 
been  shelling,  and  threw  them  into  the  basket,  to  show 
Frank  that  it  would  be  immediately  useful  to  her. 

"  But  it  is  so  strong,"  said  Mary, "  it  will  bear  a  much 
greater  load  than  this." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Wheeler,  "  I  will  keep  my  fagots 
in  it." 

She  and  Frank  both  smiled  when  she  pronounced  the 
word  fagots ;  and  while  she  went  to  empty  the  basket 
of  peashells  and  fill  it  with  sticks,  Frank  told  Mary  the 
mistake  he  had  made  when  he  was  a  very  little  boy, 
about  fagots  and  maggots. 

"  I  can  bear  to  be  laughed  at  now,  cannot  I,  mamma  ? 
better,  at  least,  than  I  could  at  that  time.  Yet,"  added 
he,  "  I  recollect  that  stupid  Tom  vexed  me  a  little  the 
first  time  we  saw  him,  by  laughing  at  my  triumphal 
arch,  and  calling  my  bricks  baby  bricks." 

"  Now  I  know  the  reason,"  said  Mary,  "  that  you 
have  not  played  with  the  bricks  lately." 

"  And  a  very  foolish  reason  it  is,"  said  Frank.  "  I 
will  conquer  that  foolish  feeling." 

"  Look  !"  said  Mary,  "  here  is  Mrs.  Wheeler  with  the 
basket  filled  with  sticks.  Good-natured  woman !  she 
likes  to  show  us  how  useful  it  will  be." 

She  placed  the  basket  in  her  chimney  comer ;  and 
told  Mary  and  Frank  that  she  would  never  let  anybody 
touch  it  but  herself  and  her  grandson  George. 

When  oyce  she  had  named  George,  she  could  not 
help  going  on  speaking  of  him ;  she  showed  the  parlour, 
which  he  had  had  newly  whitewashed  and  floored ;  and 
said  that  every  penny  he  could  earn  he  laid  out  in  some 
comfort  for  her. 

"  George  was  talking,"  continued  she, "  of  making  for 
me  a  little  arbour  in  the  garden;  but  I  would  not  let 
him  do  it,  for  he  does  too  much  for  me,  and  he  can  be 
much  belter  employed ;  so  I  persuaded  him  to  lay  aside 
all  thoughts  of  the  arbour." 


PRANK.  231 

When  Frank  heard  this,  a  plan  of  making  an  arbour 
for  Mrs.  Wheeler  came  into  his  mind,  which  he  com- 
municated to  Mary  as  they  were  returning  home :  and 
Mary  and  he  agreed  that  they  would  make  use  of  some 
strong  and  long  sallows,  which  the  gardener  had  sent 
them ;  and  for  this  purpose,  they  said,  they  would  give 
up  their  plan  of  making  a  new  arbour  for  themselves  in 
their  island.  This  was  an  excellent  project;  but  it 
happened  to  this,  as  to  many  other  excellent  projects, 
that  the  carrying  it  into  execution  was  from  day  to\lay 
postponed :  something  was  always  to  be  done  first ; 
and  delightful  rides  made  Frank  quite 'forget  Mrs. 
Wheeler's  arbour. 


During  the  course  of  this  autumn  and  winter,  when 
Frank  had  learned  to  ride  tolerably  well,  his  father 
sometimes  took  him  out  riding  when  he  went  with  his 
friends,  or  when  he  went  out  on  any  business  in  which 
a  boy  of  his  age  could  learn  any  thing  useful. 

Frank  liked  the  rides  best  which  he  had  with  his  fa- 
ther when  he  was  alone ;  because  then  he  could  ask 
him  all  the  questions  which  he  had  treasured  up  for 
those  happy  times. 

When  his  father's  friends  happened  to  ride  with  them, 
Frank  found  it  disagreeable  to  be  silent,  especially  as 
the  conversation  sometimes  turned  on  subjects  which 
did  not  interest  him,  and  which  he  fancied  that  he  could 
not  understand ;  yet  he  had  sense  enough  to  attend  to 
what  was  said,  and  he  found  that  he  often  learned  more 
than  he  could  have  done  by  talking  himself,  even  of 
what  he  was  most  anxious  to  say. 

It  happened,  in  one  of  these  rides,  that  his  father  was 
accompanied  by  two  gentlemen :  one  was  an  engineer, 
well  informed  in  literature  and  science ;  the  other  was  a 
country  squire,  who  had  a  large  estate,  was  good-natu- 
red, but  very  ignorant,  and  fond  of  low  company. 

The  business  of  this  ride  was  to  lay  out  a  new  road, 
which  was  to  go  through  part  of  that  gentleman's  es- 
tate. In  this  business  Frank  was  not  interested,  and  he 
thought,  as  he  told  Mary,  that  it  would  prove  one  of  his 
stupid  rides. 

The  beginning  was  tiresome,  for  he  could  not  under- 
stand what  the  engineer  was  saying  to  his  father  about  a 


■632    -  PRANK. 

trigonometrical  survey  of  England,  nor  of  what  the  sqnire 
said  to  him  about  hounds.  He  trotted  on  for  miles 
without  any  amusement,  except  talking  by  turns  to  Fe- 
lix and  to  his  little  dog  Pompey,  whom  he  taught  to  fol- 
low him  in  his  rides. 

He  was,  however,  called  upon  to  listen  to  a  long 
story,  which  the  squire  endeavoured  to  make  him  un- 
derstand. A  story,  such  as  people  full  of  their  own  af- 
fairs, and  unused  to  children,  address  to  them  for  their 
amtisement. 

It  was  the  history  of  a  quarrel  about  a  dead  partridge, 
between  the"  Squires's  and  the  Rogers's,  which  was 
tnade  up  by  a  marriage  between  Miss  Squires,  his 
mother,  and  Mr.  Rogers,  his  father,  "upon  condition 
that  the  eldest  son,  that  was  to  be,  should  be  christened 
Squires,  which  was  accordingly  done  by  me,  that  is,  with 
me,"  said  the  puzzled  and  puzzling  squire.  "  So  I  be- 
came Squires  Rogers,  and,  in  time,  ought  to  be  denom- 
inated Squire  Squires  Rogers ;  being  that  I  am  Esquire, 
that  is,  a  Squire  by  title — and  Squires  by  name — and,  I 
may  add,  Squire  by  nature ;  but  I  have  never  compassed 
getting  myself  called  Squire  Squires  Rogers,  on  account 
of  the  hissing  in  common  people's  mouths :  so  it  came 
down  to  Squires  Rogers,  and  then  to  plain  Squire  Ro- 
gers. But  this  defeated  the  intention  of  the  founder," 
continued  he,  "  for  there  is  many  in  the  country  this 
minute  that  does  not  know  I  am  any  thing  more  than 
plain  Squire  Rogers.  I  doubt  whether  even  your  father 
does  ;  but  pray  do  you  explain  it  to  him,  my  dear." 

Frank  said  that  he  would  if  he  could ;  he  thought, 
however,  that  this  would  be  above  his  capacity :  but  he 
repeated  to  himself  several  times  Squire  Squires  Rogers, 
to  try  whether  he  could  say  it  properly,  in  spite  of  the 
hissing. 

His  attention  had  been  much  distracted  during  the 
latter  part  of  the  squire's  story,  by  some  words  that  he 
overheard  of  the  conversation  on  the  other  side  of  him, 
between  the  engineer  and  his  father,  about  stone  stairs, 
leading  to  curious  buildings  under  ground,  which  had 
lately  been  discovered  by  some  workmen  who  had  been 
sinking  a  well. 

The  conversation  changed  before  Frank's  attention 
was  released  from  the  Squires's  and  the  Rogers's,  and 
he  never  could  find  out  more. 

Presently ,-his  father  stopped  near  some  ruins.    The 


PRANK.  233 

squire  told  Frank  not  to  mind  that  heap  of  old  stones, 
but  to  listen  to  what  he  was  going  to  tell  him  about  a 
covey  of  partridges.  Frank,  however,  escaped  this 
time  from  the  squire,  and  rode  after  his  father,  for  his 
curiosity  was  again  excited  by  hearing  the  words  Roman 
road  and  Roman  arch ;  the  recollection  of  his  own  tri- 
umphal arch  gave  him  an  interest  in  this  subject.  He 
was  surprised  to  learn  that  an  arch  and  a  road,  which 
he  now  saw  had  been  made  when  the  Romans  were  in 
England.  .  • 

From  the  little  books  of  history  which  he  had  read, 
he  knew  that  "  the  Romans  in  England  once  did  sway ;" 
but  he  had  thought  of  this  only  as  a  circumstance  men- 
tioned in  books,  and  had  never  so  much  the  feeling  of  its 
being  real  as  now,  when  he  saw  a  road  and  a  part  of  a 
building  which  had  lasted  from  their  time. 

The  conversation  next  turned  upon  one  of  those  old 
towers  which  are  called  Cassar's  towers,  and  various 
facts  of  history  were  mentioned,  with  some  of  which 
Frank  was  acquainted ;  but  what  interested  him  most 
was  observing  the  respect  that  was  paid  to  his  father 
as  a  man  of  literature.  He  remarked,  also,  that  the 
squire  looked  sulky  and  ashamed  while  they  were  talk- 
ing of  Tacitus  and  Agricola,  of  Julius  Caesar  and  Augus- 
tus ;  and  when  he  was  asked  some  question  about  a 
tower  on  his  own  estate,  which  was  said  to  have  been 
built  in  the  time  of  Augustus  Caesar,  he  said,  he  thank- 
ed his  stars  he  knew  nothing  at  all  of  any  of  the  Caisars 
since  he  had  left  school,  except  his  dog  Caesar,  who  was 
worth  them  all  put  together.  The  squire  was  at  last 
obliged  to  whistle,  and  to  whip  his  boot,  and  talk  to 
little  Pompey.  Frank  hoped  that  when  he  grew  up  to 
be  a  man  he  should  never  be  in  such  a  condition.  They 
rode  on,  and  as  they  went  through  the  county  town, 
the  engineer  stopped  to  look  at  the  cathedral,  the  roof 
of  which  wanted  some  repair. 

When  observations  were  made  upon  the  different 
parts  of  the  building,  the  columns  and  Gothic  arches, 
Frank  found  that  his  knowledge  of  the  different  kinds 
of  arches,  and  of  the  orders  of  architecture,  enabled 
him  to  understand  part  of  what  was  said,  and  made  him 
eager  to  attend,  in  hopes  of  learning  more.  When 
they  were  looking  at  some  headless  statues  in  the 
niches  of  one  of  the  shrines  in  the  cathedral,  and  when 
be  heard  his  father  regret  the  injury  which  had  been 
20* 


834  FRANK. 

done  to  this  cathedral,  and  to  many  others  in  England, 
by  Cromwell's  soldiers  at  the  time  of  the  civil  wars  in 
England,  at  least  he  knew  who  Cromwell  was;  and 
when  he  felt  his  own  ignorance  of  many  other  facts  in 
English  history,  which  were  alluded  to  in  looking  at  the 
tombs  and  monuments,  he  inquired  and  obtained  some 
information.  But  all  this  time  the  squire,  as  ignorant 
of  the  history  of  his  own  country  as  of  that  of  Rome, 
stood  yawning  at  intervals  before  an  old  gravestone,  on 
which  was  the  name  of  either  Roberts  or  Rogers ; 
whose  only  history  seemed  to  be  that  he  had  been  born 
and  had  died. 

Frank  and  his  father  felt  sorry  for  the  squire,  and 
they  quitted  the  cathedral  soon,  lest  they  should  weary 
him  by  detaining  him  longer.  They  all  remounted  their 
horses,  and  proceeded  to  the  place  where  the  new  road 
was  to  be  laid  out.  Here  they  found  the  engineer's 
men  waiting  for  them ;  they  had  brought  with  them  a 
telescope,  and  two  boxes  which  contained  his  instru- 
ments, and  some  wooden  rods  or  staves.  Frank  had 
seen  and  had  often  looked  through  a  telescope,  and 
knew  its  use,  and  remembered  all  he  had  read  about  it 
in  Sandford  and  Merton.  The  engineer,  who  had  ob- 
served that  Frank  was  intelligent,  gave  him  leave  to 
look  through  his  glass  at  the  distant  country,  and  as  he 
saw  the  manner  in  which  Frank  held  it,  and  applied  his 
eye  to  it,  at  the  same  time  directing  it  to  the  objects 
which  he  wished  to  see,  he  said, 

"  I  perceive  this  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  looked 
through  a  telescope." 

"No,"  said  Frank;  "the  first  time  I  could  not  shut 
one  eye  and  look  with  the  other ;  and  1  remember  I 
pointed  the  telescope  sometimes  a  great  way  higher  and 
sometimes  a  great  way  lower  than  the  thing  1  wanted 
to  see.  But  my  father  taught  me  how  to  hold,  and 
direct,  and  steady  it ;  and  he  let  me  try  till  I  could  do  it 
all  for  myself." 

"  You  are  very  much  obliged  to  your  father,  then," 
said  the  engineer,  "  for  teaching  you  ;  for,  in  general, 
children,  and  indeed  grown-up  people,  are  terribly  awk- 
ward the  first  time  they  want  to  look  through  a  glass." 

As  Frank  looked  through  it,  he  said, 

"  I  see  a  high  hill  over  which  a  road  goes." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  engineer,  "  we  are  going  to  change 
that  road,  to  save  people  the  trouble  of  going  up  that 


FRANK.  235 

iiill ;  and  I  am  going  to  measure  the  different  heights  of 
the  ground." 

He  then  called  to  one  of  his  men,  and  desired  him  to 
bring  his  theodolite. 

Frank,  wlio  had  never  before  seen  such  an  instrument, 
went  eagerly  to  look  at  it.  But  he  could  not  under- 
stand its  diiferent  parts ;  he  saw  telescopes  and  brass 
circles,  with  many  divisions  of  which  he  could  not 
guess  the  use.  He  saw  a  compass :  with  this  he  was 
acquainted,  for  his  father  had  shown  him  a  compass : 
he  watched  the  needle  as  it  trembled  ;  and  when  it  stood 
still,  he  knew  it  pointed  to  the  north :  his  curiosity  was 
next  excited  by  a  small  glass  tube,  in  which  he  saw  a 
bubble  that  continually  moved  backwards  and  forwards 
whenever  the  instrument  was  stirred. 

He  saw  the  engineer  look  at  this  bubble  frequently, 
and,  as  it  were,  consult  it.  Frank  observed  that  the 
bubble  always  went  to  that  end  of  the  tube  which  was 
higheet. 

At  last,  when  the  instrument  was  settled  to  the  en- 
gineer's satisfaction,  Frank  saw  that  this  bubble  stood 
quite  still,  exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  glass  tube  ;  he 
perceived,  therefore,  that  its  use  was  to  show  when  the 
instrument  was  level.  He  asked  what  this  was.  The 
engineer  said  it  was  a  spirit  level.  He  asked  what  the 
bubble  was,  and  why  it  always  ran  upwards.  The  en- 
gineer said  that  it  was  a  bubble  of  air;  but  he  told 
Frank  that  he  could  not  explain  more  to  him,  that  he 
must  go  on  with  his  work. 

The  engineer  ordered  one  of  his  assistants  to  stand 
on  the  road  at  a  certain  distance  from  him,  with  one  of 
the  staves,  which  the  man  held  on  the  road.  On  this 
staff  there  was  a  sliding  part,  which  the  man  pushed 
higher  or  lower  when  the  engineer,  who  looked  at  it 
through  the  telescope,  made  signs  to  him  to  raise  or 
lower  it.  When  this  was  done  the  engineer  called  the 
man  to  him,  and  noted  down  the  height  to  which  the 
slide  had  been  placed  on  the  staff,  and  this  operation 
was  repeated  at  several  plapes. 

As  Frank  had  been  quite  silent,  and  had  taken  care 
not  to  be  in  the  way,  the  engineer  gave  him  leave  to 
look  through  the  telescope  at  the  staff;  and  told  him 
that  he  might  call  to  the  man  to  raise  or  lower  it  till  it 
should  be  at  its  proper  height.  Frank  looked  through 
the  telescope ;  but,  to  his  astonishment,  lie  saw  the  man 


236  PRANK. 

Standing  on  his  head,  and  the  road  seeming  to  stand  on 
the  man's  feet ;  and  when  he  called  to  the  man  to  raise 
the  slide,  he  lowered  it,  or  when  he  called  to  him  to 
lower  it,  he  raised  it,  doing  exactly  the  contrary  to 
what  he  desired ;  at  whichi;he  squire  grew  angry,  and 
began  to  call  the  man  a  blockhead,  a  dunce,  and  an  ob- 
stinate fool.  But  as  the  man  had  always  done  rightly 
when  the  engineer  had  spoken  to  him,  Frank  guessed 
that  the  fault  must  be  his  own ;  and  as  all  the  objects 
were  reversed,  that  is,  turned  a  different  way  from  what 
they  usually  are,  he  perceived  that  he  ought  to  reverse 
his  orders,  and  to  say  higher  when  it  seemed  to  require 
to  be  lower,  and  lower  when  it  seemed  to  require  to  be 
higher. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  engineer,  stroking  Frank's  head, 
"  that  your  kind  father  has  taught  you  better  things 
than  how  to  hold  a  telescope  ;  that  he  has  taught  you 
to  be  patient,  and  to  believe  that  you  may  be  in  the 
wrong,  and  ought  not  to  expect  to  be  in  the  right  in  a 
new  thing,  which  you  have  never  learned." 

Encouraged  by  these  kind  words,  Frank  said  he 
wished  very  much  to  know  the  reason  of  what  he  had 
seen,  and  particularly  why  the  man  appeared  to  stand 
on  his  head]  But  his  father  told  him  that  this  could 
not  be  explained  till  he  knew  a  great  deal  more. 

"What  is  the  engineer  going  to  do  now]"  asked 
Frank. 

"  He  is  going  to  measure  the  height  and  distance  of 
those  two  mountains  which  you  see  to  the  east  and  to 
the  west,  to  your  right  hand  and  to  your  left." 

Frank  observed  that  the  engineer,  after  looking 
through  the  telescope,  examined  the  divisions  on  the 
brass  circles;  then  changed  the  position  of  the  tele- 
scope, and  again  examined  the  divisions;  after  which 
he  looked  satisfied,  and  wrote  something  in  a  little  book. 
And  Frank  heard  him  say  several  things  to  his  father 
which  he  could  not  understand,  about  taking  angles,  a 
base,  and  a  meridian  line. 

When  the  engineer  seemed  to  have  done  with  the 
instrument,  Frank  asked  if  he  might  again  look  through 
the  telescope.  The  engineer  nodded,  and  went  on  with 
his  former  conversation.  Frank  looked,  but  saw  only 
a  mountain  upside  down ;  and  Frank  said  to  the  man 
next  to  him,  "  What  has  your  master  been  doing  1"  Tha 
man  answered, 


PRANK.  237 

**  He  was  taking  the  angles." 

And  Frank  understood  no  more  than  he  had  done  be- 
fore. The  engineer  turning  round  at  this  instant,  saw- 
Frank's  curious  and  distressed  look,  smiled,  and  said, 

"  My  dear,  you  have  a  great  deal  to  learn  before  you 
can  understand  the  meaning  of  all  this." 

The  squire  asked  if  he  had  now  finished  his  business. 

The  engineer  answered  that  he  had. 

"  Heaven  be  praised !"  exclaimed  the  squire,  "  we 
shall  have  our  road — the  rest  is  all  Hebrew  to  me.  It 
is  amazingly  cold  standing  here :  and  I  am  heartily  glad 
to  see  that  wooden  Harry-long-legs  go  back  again  into 
its  box." 

Frank  smiled. 

"  I  never  want  to  know  how  to  do  these  trouble- 
some things — these  sorts  of  scientific  puzzles,  which 
a  man  can  get  done  for  him  by  paying  for,"  added  the 
squire. 

Frank  looked  at  him  with  surprise ;  but  there  was 
something  droll  and  good-humoured  in  the  squire's 
manner  which  diverted  him,  and  he  was  glad  that  they 
were  to  go  on  with  him  to  Rogers'-court,  where  he 
cordially  invited  them  to  rest  and  refresh  themselves ; 
being  certain,  he  said,  that  they  must  be  more  than 
half  tired  to  death,  as  he  was  himself,  of  this  tedious 
business. 

Rogers'-court  was  a  handsome  old  house,  of  which 
the  squire  was  proud,  as  he  was  of  all  that  belonged  to 
him. 

In  showing  this  house,  his  ignorance  was  still  more 
striking  than  it  had  before  appeared.  He  had  a  fine 
library  which  had  been  left  to  him  lately,  as  head  of  the 
family,  he  said,  by  some  great  bookish  man  of  his  name, 
but  to  him  the  books  were  of  neither  use  or  pleasure ; 
he  had  several  fine  historical  pictures  in  his  dining-room 
and  drawing-room.  Frank  began  to  ask  some  questions 
about  them,  but  he  perceived  that  the  squire  did  not 
even  know  Darius  and  Alexander;  he  called  Alexander 
a  great  Roman  general. 

While  they  were  looking  at  the  pictures,  two  boys, 
older  than  he  was,  'nephews  of  Squire  Rogers,  came 
into  the  room  with  their  tutor,  and  joined  the  circle  who 
were  examining  the  pictures.  Frank  saw  that  the  boys 
and  the  tutor  were  laughing  behind  the  squire's  back,  at 
h>s  mistakes.    Frank  thought  that  this  was  very  illna- 


238  PRANK. 

tured  and  wrong.  He  was  shocked  at  it,  and  he  would 
not  go  near  thera. 

When  he  gave  an  account  of  this  visit  to  Mary,  he 
said  that  he  took  care  not  to  ask  any  more  questions, 
lest  he  should  expose  "  tke  poor  squire.'''' 

This  poor,  or  rather  this  rich  squire's  ignorance,  made 
such  an  impression  upon  Frank,  that  for  a  time  he  talked 
of  it  more  than  of  the  engineer's  knowledge ;  thinking 
it,  perhaps,  rather  more  easy  to  avoid  the  one  than  to 
obtain  the  other. 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  said  he,  "  I  must  take  care  not  to 
be  an  ignorant  man.  We  will  look  over  our  histories 
of  Greece,  and  Rome,  and  England,  to-morrow,  and  see 
what  we  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  "  and  find  out  what  we  do  not 
know." 


The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  Frank's  Latin  lesson 
was  finished,  the  floor  of  his  mother's  dressing-room 
was  strewed  with  the  heads  of  Roman  and  of  English 
kings,  queens,  emperors,  and  consuls.  Mary  put  to- 
gether the  joining  map  of  the  English  kings  and  queens; 
Frank  holding  the  box,  and  giving  each  head  as  she 
called  for  it  in  right  succession.  Not  a  single  mistake 
was  made  in  her  calling.  Frank  then  tried  whether  he 
could  do  as  well  with  the  Romans ;  but  he  made  one 
error.  He  called  for  Tarquinius  Superbus  (Tarquin  the 
Proud),  before  Tarquinius  Priscus. 

"  I  always  have  made  that  mistake,"  said  Frank. 

"  But  you  will  not  make  it  again,"  said  his  mother, 
"  if  you  consider  that  Tarquin  the  Proud  was,  on  ac- 
count of  his  pride  and  wickedness,  driven  from  the 
throne  and  from  the  country,  and  was  the  last  of  the 
kings  of  Rome." 

This  reason,  as  Frank  found,  fixed  the  fact  in  his 
memory ;  and  he  observed  that  it  was  much  easier  and 
better  to  remember  by  reason  than  merely  by  rote. 
While  Frank  had  his  Roman  kings,  consuls,  and  empe- 
rors, on  one  side  of  the  room,  and  Mary  her  English 
kings  and  queens  on  the  floor  at  the  other,  Mary  began 
to  amuse  herself  with  proposing  visits  from  one  set  of 
crowned  heads  to  the  other ;  but  Frank  observed  that 
those  should  not  visit  who  did  not  live  at  the  same  time, 
for  that  they  would  not  know  each  other's  customs. 


PRANK.  239 

This  led  to  an  inquiry,  which  ended  in  putting  a  stop 
to  all  visiting  between  the  kings  and  queens  of  England 
and  the  kings  and  consuls  of  Rome.  The  time  of  Julius 
Caesar's  landing  at  Deal  was  inquired  into,  and,  to  please 
Mary,  he  and  the  Emperor  Augustus  Caesar  wej^  per- 
mitted to  see  Queen  Boadicea,  though,  as  Frank  observ- 
ed, this  was  absolutely  impossible  in  reality,  because 
Queen  Boadicea  did  not  Uve  till  eighteen  years  after- 
ward. 

They  went  to  their  little  histories  of  England,  France, 
and  Scotland,  and  found  all  the  kings  and  queens,  and 
remarkable  people,  who  lived  at  the  same  time ;  and 
they  amused  themselves  with  making  out  parties  for 
these  personages,  and  inventing  conversations  for  them. 

They  called  this  playing  at  contemporaries ;  contem- 
poraries meaning,  as  Frank's  mother  told  them,  those 
people  who  live  at  the  same  time. 

Even  by  this  trifling  diversion,  some  useful  knowl- 
edge was  gained.  New  inquiries  continually  arose,  and 
led  to  the  grand  questions,  which  nations  come  first  in 
the  history  of  the  world  1  which  next  in  succession  ■?  or 
what  states  flourished,  that  is,  were  in  power  and  pros- 
perity, at  the  same  time ! 

Frank's  mother,  in  answer  to  these  questions,  unroll- 
ed a  chart  which  hung  up  in  the  study ;  it  was  called 
"  The  Stream  of  Time."  This  stream  seemed  to  issue 
from  clouds,  divided  into  numerous  streamlets  of  differ- 
ent breadths  and  various  colours :  only  one  of  these,  of 
a  uniform  colour,  flowed  straight  in  an  uninterrupted 
course.  All  the  others  appeared  patched  of  many  col- 
ours, and  were  more  or  less  interrupted  and  broken  in 
their  progress ;  sometimes  running  thin  till  they  came 
to  nothing,  or  were  swallowed  up  in  neighbouring 
streaks,  or  sometimes  several  joining  together,  and  after 
a  little  space  separating  in  straggling  figures.  Mary, 
when  first  she  looked  at  this  map,  said  it  looked  like  the 
window,  when,  on  a  rainy  day,  some  finger  has  been 
'Streaked  down  the  glass  many  times.  Frank  said  that 
to  him  it  looked  more  like  a  coloured  drawing,  which 
his  father  had  shown  him,  of  the  heart,  veins,  and  arter- 
ies. Across  the  coloured  streaks  were  printed  numer- 
ous names,  which  were  the  names  of  the  different  na- 
tions and  empires  of  the  world.  Frank  began  to  read 
these :  Chinese,  .Tews,  Egyptians,  Phffinicians,  Assyr* 
ians,  Persians,  Macedonians,  Grecians,  Romans — 


840  FRANK. 

Then  pausing,  and  looking  as  if  confounded  by  the 
number  of  the  names, 

"  Mamma,"  said  he,  "just  the  minute  before  you  un- 
rolled that  chart  I  was  going  to  say  to  Mary — '■Mary,  we 
have  learned  a  great  deal  to  day ;'  but  now  that  I  see  how 
much  more  we  have  to  learn,  I  think  we  have  learned 
very  little.  Mamma,  how  shall  we  ever  in  our  whole 
lives  have  time  to  learn,  or  memory  enough  to  remem- 
ber, the  histories  of  all  these  people  1  How  very  difficult 
it  will  be,  and  how  impossible,  before  I  go  to  school ! 
Will  it  not  be  quite  impossible,  mamma  V 

She  readily  allowed  that  it  would  be ;  and  assured 
him  that  a  complete  knowledge  of  the  history  of  all  the 
nations  in  the  world  is  possessed  by  very  few  men,  even 
after  they  have  studied  history  half  their  lives.  "  There- 
fore, Frank,"  said  she,  "  you  need  not  despair,  because 
at  your  age  you  know  but  little.  Go  on  steadily,  ac- 
quiring, as  you  do,  every  day  a  little  more  and  a  little 
more  knowledge,  and  the  difficulties  will  lessen  as  you 
advance." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  I  should  like  to  fix  a  time 
for  looking  at  this  map  with  you,  and  learning  from  it 
something  about  the  histories  of  different  nations  every 
day." 

"  You  may  hang  the  chart  up  in  my  dressing-room, 
and  you  may  come,  Frank,  if  you  please,  every  day  at  my 
dressing  time,"  said  his  mother ;  "  and  I  shall  be  ready 
to  help  you  as  far  as  I  can ;  but,  perhaps,  many  things 
will  prevent  you  after  the  first  day  from  being  punctual 
to  that  time ;  and  I  rather  advise  you  to  leave  the  map 
where  it  is,  along  with  the  books  of  history  which  you 
generally  read,  and  where  you  can  readily  get  at  it,  and 
consult  it,  and  look  at  it,  at  the  times  when  you  want  to 
know  any  particular  fact." 

"  That  will  be  best,"  said  Frank.  "  Now,  Mary,  let 
us  go  out  to  warm  ourselves  and  play  a  little.  Mamma, 
will  you  call  out  from  the  window,  as  you  sit  at  work, 
'  One  !  two  !  three  !  and  away  V  We  will  run  from  the 
great  beech  to  the  great  oak." 

After  having  run  several  of  what  IMary  justly  called 
good  races,  they  rested ;  and  Frank,  as  soon  as  he  had 
breath,  began  to  try  to  explain  to  her  the  instruments 
which  he  had  seen  with  the  engineer ;  but  he  ended  by 
saying  that  she  must  see  them  before  she  could  under- 
stand them,  or  even  understand  as  much  of  them  as  he 


FRANK.  ISD 

did.  Without  any  instrument,  however,  but  three 
sticks,  he  said  they  could  play  at  levelling  well  enough; 
and,  pushing  out  the  pith  from  a  piece  of  elder  stick, 
used  it  instead  of  a  telescope,  and  stuck  it  and  three 
sticks  together  with  a  nail :  then  he  made  a  sliding  staff 
with  two  smooth  sallows  for  Mary :  he  bid  her  stand  at 
some  distance,  and  be  his  levelling-man.  And  in  this 
manner  they  set  about  trying  to  measure  the  ups  and 
downs  in  part  of  the  walk  round  the  shrubbery.  And 
Frank  said  he  could  measure  the  height  that  the  sli- 
ding stick  was  raised  or  lowered  by  a  foot  rule  which 
his  mother  had  given  to  him.  This  play  went  on  hap- 
pily for  some  time,  Frank  running  backwards  and  for- 
wards frequently  to  examine  whether  Mary  was  right 
or  wrong,  in  her  raising  or  lowering  of  the  staff. 

"  Now  you  see  I  am  always  right,"  said  Mary,  "  pray 
do  not  come  to  look  any  more :  trust  to  me,  pray, 
Frank,  do." 

He  did  so.  Till  at  last,  at  a  certain  turn  of  the  walk, 
the  wind  being  high,  and  blowing  full  in  Frank's  face,  he 
called  and  bawled  out  the  word  "  Ijower !  I  say,  lower ! 
Mary,  lower!"  in  vain.  Mary  continually  answered, 
"  I  can't  hear :"  Frank  replied,  "  You  must  hear,  for  I 
hear  you ;"  but  this  answer  did  not  reach  Mary,  and 
Frank,  after  bawling  till  he  was  hoarse,  grew  angry, 
and,  running  up  to  Mary,  snatched  the  staff  from  her 
hand,  and  in  an  insulting  manner  declared  that  she  was 
not  fit  to  be  a  Icvelling-man.  She  pleaded  that  the  wind 
was  so  high  that  she  could  never  hear  a  word  he  said ; 
and  he  being  in  a  passion  repeated, 

"  You  must  have  heard  it  if  you  had  been  minding 
what  you  were  about,  for  I  hear  you  now  ;  and  if  you 
did  not  hear,  could  not  you  have  taken  off  your  bonnet  ?" 

"  No,  because  mamma  desired  me  not  to  take  off  my 
bonnet." 

"  Because !  because !  Oh,  that  is  only  an  excuse. 
You  do  not  like  to  play  at  this  play,  1  see,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  do,  I  do,  indeed,"  said  Mary,  "  if  you  would  not  be 
angry  with  me." 

"  But  how  can  I  help  being  angry,  when  I  have  bawl- 
ed till  I  am  hoarse,  and  you  never  would  hear;  and 
when  I  heard  you  all  the  time  1" 

"  It  is  very  natural  to  be  provoked  with  a  person  for 
not  hearing,  I  know,"  said  Mary ;  "  I  have  felt  that  my- 
self. I  remember  yesterday,  when  the  wind  was  high, 
L  31 


242  FRANK. 

and  I  was  locked  out,  and  standing  at  the  glass  door  call- 
ing, and  calling,  and  calling  to  Catharine,  begging  her  to 
let  me  in,  and  she  did  not  hear  me,  though  all  that  time  I 
saw  and  heard  her ;  I  was  very  much  provoked,  though 
it  was  not  her  fault." 

While  Mary  was  saying  this,  Frank  had  time  to  rec- 
ollect himself. 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  said  he,  "I  was  cross,  and  you  are 
very  good-humoured,  and  perhaps  you  are  right  too. 
Now  go  to  my  place  and  call  to  me,  and  I  will  stand  in 
yours,  and  try  if  I  can  hear  you." 

Frank  could  not  hear  one  word  that  Mary  said :  and 
Frank  acknowledged  that  he  had  been  unreasonable. 
He  perceived,  he  said,  that  the  wind,  which  had  been 
against  his  voice  while  he  had  been  giving  his  orders, 
had  prevented  his  levelling-man  from  hearing  his  "lower 
and  lower." 

"  My  dear,"  cried  Frank,  "  now  I  recollect  it  is  just 
like  the  man  who  fell  into  the  coal-pit — in  the  '  Gentle- 
man's Magazine !' " 

"  Man  in  the  coal-pit,  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine !" 
said  Mary,  "  What  can  you  mean  V 

"  My  dear,  do  not  you  remember  the  sufferings  of 
Lieutenant  George  Spearing  1  the  man  who  went  to  a 
wood  to  gather  some  nuts,  and  fell  into  an  old  coal-pit  1" 

"  Oh,  1  remember,"  said  Mary, "  a  hole  seventeen  yards 
deep!  and  he  heard  the  robin-red-breast  at  daybreak, 
singing  just  over  the  mouth  of  his  pit.     Poor  fellow  !" 

"  Yes,"  continued  Frank,  "  and  he  heard  the  horses 
going  to  and  from  the  mill,  and  human  voices." 

"  And  the  ducks  and  hens  distinctly,"  said  Mary. 

"  And  he  called,  and  called,"  said  Frank,  "  or,  as  the 
book  says,  made  the  best  use  of  his  voice,  but  to  no 
manner  of  purpose,  for  the  wind  was  high,  and  blew  in 
a  line  from  the  mill  to  the  pit ;  so  that  was  the  reason 
that  he  heard  all  that  was  done  there  distinctly,  as  I 
heard  you,  Mary ;  but  they  could  never  hear  him ;  his 
voice  was  carried  by  the  wind  the  contrary  way,  as 
mine  was,  my  dear ;  and  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Think  no  more  of  it,"  said  Mary ;  "  I  am  glad  we 
did  not  quarrel  about  it." 

"  If  we  had  it  would  have  been  all  my  fault,"  said 
Frank. 

"  But  now  let- us  settle  how  it  shall  be  for  the  future," 
said  Mary.     "  Instead  of  calling  in  this  high  wind,  why 


FRANK.  243 

should  not  we  make  signals,  as  you  told  me  the  engi- 
neer and  his  levelling-man  did  when  the  man  was  at  too 
great  a  distance  to  hear  his  voice  V 

"  Very  true,  very  right,"  said  Frank  ;  "  how  could  I 
be  so  foolish  as  not  to  think  of  that !  The  simplest 
thing  in  the  world  !  But  when  I  am  in  a  passion  I  can 
never  think  even  of  the  very  thing  I  want,  and  that  I 
know  perfectly  well  when  I  am  not  angry." 

"  It  is  so  with  everybody,  1  believe,"  said  Mary. 

Justly  pleased  with  herself,  Mary  was  remarkably 
exact  afterward  in  obeying  the  signals ;  and  Frank, 
anxious  to  make  amends  for  his  foolish  passion,  was 
particularly  gentle,  and  careful  not  to  be  the  least  impa- 
tient. When  they  went  home,  Frank  told  his  mother 
of  their  little  dispute. 

"  Now  it  is  all  over,"  said  Mary,  "  it  was  very  well 
you  thought  of  changing  places  with  me,  Frank,  other- 
wise you  never  could  have  been  so  soon  convinced  that 
I  was  in  the  right." 

"  Now  it  is  all  over,  I  was  very  foolish,"  said  Frank ; 
"was  not  I,  mammal" 
I  His  mother  could  not  deny  it. 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Mary,  "  we  were  not  quite  so 
foolish  as  the  two  knights  who  fought  about  the  gold 
and  silver  shield." 

Frank  had  never  read  the  story,  and  she  had  the 
pleasure  of  reading  it  to  him.  J^et  those  who  have 
never  read  it  read  it  now,  and  may  those  who  have 
read  it  before  recollect  it  the  next  time  they  want  it. 

"  In  the  days  of  knight-errantry,  one  of  our  good  old 
British  princes  set  up  a  statue  to  the  goddess  of  victory, 
in  a  point  where  four  roads  met  together.  In  her  right 
hand  she  held  a  spear,  and  her  left  rested  upon  a  shield : 
the  outside  of  this  shield  was  of  gold,  and  the  inside  of 
silver.  On  the  former  was  inscribed,  in  the  old  British 
language, '  To  the  goddess  ever  favourable ;'  and  on  the 
other,  '  For  four  victories  obtained  successively  over 
the  Picts,  and  other  inhabitants  of  the  northern  isl- 
ands.' 

"  It  happened  one  day  that  two  knights  completely 
armed,  one  in  black  armour,  the  other  in  white,  arrived 
from  opposite  parts  of  the  country  at  this  statue  just 
about  the  same  time ;  and  as  neither  of  them  had  seen 
it  before,  they  stopped  to  read  the  inscription,  and  ob- 
eerve  the  excellence  of  its  workmanship, 
L  8 


1M4  PRANK. 

"  After  contemplating  it  for  some  time,  '  This  golden 
shield,'  said  the  black  knight — 'Golden  shield!'  cried 
the  wlxite  knight,  who  was  as  strictly  observing  the  op- 
posite side  ;  '  why,  if  I  have  my  eyes,  it  is  silver.' — '  I 
know  nothing  of  your  pyes,'  replied  the  black  knight ; 

*  but  if  ever  I  saw  a  golden  shield  in  my  life,  this  is 
one.' — '  Yes,'  returned  the  white  knight,  smiling,  '  it  is 
very  probable,  indeed,  that  they  should  expose  a  shield 
of  gold  in  so  public  a  place  as  this ;  for  my  part,  I  won- 
der even  a  silver  one  is  not  too  strong  a  temptation  for 
the  devotion  of  some  people  who  pass  this  way ;  and  it 
appears  by  the  date  that  this  has  not  been  here  above 
three  years.' 

"The  black  knight  could  not  bear  the  smile  with 
which  this  was  delivered,  and  grew  so  warm  in  the  dis- 
pute that  it  soon  ended  in  a  challenge ;  they  both, 
therefore,  turned  their  horses,  and  rode  back  so  far  as 
to  have  sufficient  space  for  their  career:  then  fixing 
their  spears  in  their  rests,  they  flew  at  each  other  with 
the  greatest  fury  and  impetuosity.  Their  shock  was  so 
rude,  and  the  blow  on  each  side  so  effectual,  that  they 
both  fell  to  the  ground,  much  wounded  and  bruised,  and 
lay  there  for  some  time  as  in  a  trance. 

"  A  good  druid,  who  was  travelling  that  way,  found 
them  in  this  condition.  The  druids  were  the  physicians 
of  those  times,  as  well  as  the  priests.  He  had  a  sover- 
eign balsam  about  him,  which  he  had  composed  him- 
self, for  he  was  very  skilful  in  all  the  plants  that  grew 
in  the  fields  or  the  forests ;  he  stanched  their  blood,  ap- 
plied his  balsam  to  their  wounds,  and  brought  them,  as 
it  were,  from  death  to  life  again.  As  soon  as  they  were 
sufficiently  recovered,  he  began  to  inquire  into  the  oc- 
casion of  their  quarrel.  '  Why,  this  man,'  cried  the 
black  knight,  '  will  have  it  that  yonder  shield  is  silver.' 

*  And  he  will  have  it,'  said  the  other,  '  that  it  is  gold ;' 
and  told  him  all  the  particulars  of  the  aff"air. 

"  '  Ah,'  said  the  druid,  with  a  sigh,  '  you  are  both  of 
you,  my  brethren,  in  the  right,  and  both  of  you  in  the 
wrong :  had  either  of  you  given  himself  time  to  look 
at  the  opposite  side  of  the  shield,  as  well  as  that  which 
first  presented  itself  to  view,  all  this  passion  and  blood- 
shed might  have  been  avoided.  However,  there  is  a 
very  good  lesson  to  be  learned  from  the  evils  that  have 
befallen  you  on  this  occasion.  Permit  me,  therefore, 
to  entreat  you,  by  al :  our  gods,  and  by  the  goddess  of 


FRANK.  245 

victory  in  f  articular,  never  to  enter  into  any  dispute  for  ^ 
the  future  till  you  have  fairly  considered  both  sides  of  9> 
the  question.'  " 


At  breakfast,  on  the  day  when  the  good-natured  en 
gineer  was  expected,  Frank's  eyes  turned  frequently 
to^<rards  the  window;  and  Mary  watched  for  him  too,  for 
she  longed  to  look  through  his  wonderful  telescope, 
and  to  see  men  and  mountains  on  their  heads.  As  to 
the  rest,  she  cared  little  about  taking  angles ;  she  did  not 
know  what  that  meant,  or  of  what  use  it  could  be. 

"  Mary,"  said  Frank,  "  you  would  be  more  curious 
about  it  if  you  knew  what  I  know." 

"And  what  do  you  know,  Frank,  my  dear?"  said 
Mary. 

At  this  question  he  felt  his  knowledge  shrink  into  a 
small  compass,  and  he  answered, 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  know  much ;  but,  Mary,  look  out 
of  the  window  at  that  tower  at  a  distance.  You  see  it  ? 
Well !  /  believe,  mind  I  say  /  believe,  I  do  not  say  that  I 
am  sure — but  I  believe  that  he  could,  by  taking  angles, 
tell  you  how  high  and  how  broad  it  is,  without  going 
nearer  to  it  than  we  are  now ;  and  1  think  that  he  could 
tell  how  far  off  it  is  from  hence,  and  how  far  from  that 
tower  to  the  mountain  opposite,  or  any  other  place  that 
he  could  see  at  ever  so  great  a  distance  with  his  tele- 
scope." 

"  My  dear  Frank,  do  you  believe  this  ■?"  said  Mary. 

"  I  do,  for  I  was  present,"  persisted  Frank,  "  when 
my  father  asked  him  the  height  and  distance  of  some 
mountains,  as  far  off  as  I  could  see  through  the  tele- 
scope ;  and  after  looking  through  his  glass,  and  making 
some  triangles  and  calculations,  he  answered  and  told 
exactly  how  high  they  were,  and  how  far  distant." 

Mary  thought  this  was  impossible ;  but  she  said, 

"  There  are  many  ways  of  doing  things  which  I  do 
not  yet  know ;  and  this  may  be  possible,  though  I  can- 
not conceive  how  it  can  be  done." 

"  We  shall  see  when  the  good-natured  engineer 
comes,"  said  Frank. 

His  father  asked  if  he  remembered  the  definitions 
which  he   had   learned  of  an  angle,  and  a   right  an- 
gle, and  a  square,  and  a  triangle.    He  told  Frank  that 
21* 


S46  PRANK. 

unless  he  had  perfectly  distinct  ideas  of  these,  he  would 
not  be  able  to  understand  what  he  wished  to  learn  from 
his  good-natured  engineer.  Frank  took  his  father's  ad- 
vice, and  first  he  showed  Mary  what  is  meant  by  an 
angle,  or  a  comer ;  he  drew  a  square  for  Mary,  and  tri- 
angles of  different  sorts,  and  showed  her  which  was  a 
right-angled  triangle  :  teaching  her,  he  found,  refreshed 
his  own  memory.  Mary  copied  the  figures  which  he 
,  had  drawn  for  her,  and  then  cut  out  similar  figures  in 
paper,  without  looking  at  the  drawings,  that  she  might 
be  quite  sure  that  she  had  a  clear  recollection  of  what 
she  had  learned. 

The  engineer  arrived  while  Frank's  drawings  and 
the  bits  of  paper  which  Mary  had  cut  into  squared  and 
triangles  were  lying  on  the  table. 

"  I  know  what  you  have  been  doing  here,  my  little 
pupil,"  said  he,  smiling  at  Frank  ;  "  you  have  been  pre- 
paring for  me." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Frank,  "  and  I  believe  I  know  them 
all ;  ask  me  any  questions  j'ou  please." 

"  Show  me  an  angle,  then,"  said  the  gentleman. 

Frank  touched  the  comer  of  the  square. 

The  gentleman  desired  him  to  show  him  each  of  the 
angles  in  the  square  and  in  the  triangle ;  and  Frank 
did  so. 

Then,  laying  the  square  and  the  triangle  before  Frank, 
he  asked  the  names  of  these  figures,  which  Fraidt  an- 
swering rightly,  he  asked, 

"  What  sort  of  triangle  is  this  V 

Frank  answered,  "  a  right-angled  triangle." 

"  Show  me  what  you  mean  by  a  right  angle." 

Frank  showed  what  he  meant,  first  in  the  triangle,  and 
afterward  in  the  square. 

The  engineer  tlien  took  from  his  pocket  a  flat-hinged 
rule,  and  asked  Frank  if  he  could  with  that  rule  show 
him  a  right  angle. 

Frank  opened  the  rule  so  as  to  form  with  it  two  sides 
of  a  square,  and  pointing  to  the  corner  where  these  two 
sides  met,  lie  said  this  was  a  right  angle. 

"  Here  is  a  pencil:  try  if  you  can  draw  a  right  an- 
gle." 

Frank  drew  a  horizontal  straight  line. 

"  Now,"  whispered  Mary,  "  I  know  what  you  are  to 
do  next ;  you  will  draw  a  perpendicular  line  in  the  mid- 
die  of  that,  just  as  if  you  were  going  to  draw  the  wall 


PRANK.  247 

of  a  house.  Yes,"  said  she,  as  he  drew  the  line,  "  I 
knew  that." 

"  Hush,  little  magpie,"  whispered  Frank's  mother. 

Frank  pointed  to  the  corner  where  the  perpendicular 
and  horizontal  line  joined,  and  said  that  was  a  right 
angle. 

"  Can  you  show  me  another  right  angle  upon  this  hor- 
izontal line  V  said  the  engineer.  "  Do  you  see  only  one, 
or  do  you  see  two  ?" 

"  I  see  two,"  said  Frank ;  and  he  pointed  to  the  cor- 
ners on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left  hand  of  the  per- 
pendicular line,  where  it  joined  the  horizontal  line. 

The  engineer  put  his  hand  upon  Frank's  head,  and 
said,  "Now  I  am  satisfied  that  you  know  what  is  meant 
by  an  angle,  a  right  angle,  and  a  triangle." 

Mary  whispered  something  to  Frank's  mother  at  this 
time,  who  smiled,  and  said  to  the  engineer,  "  Mary  is 
surprised  that  you  ask  Frank  so  often  to  show  you  an 
angle  in  different  things." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary,  "  as  if  you  could  not  believe  he 
knew  it." 

"  I  am  very  careful  on  these  subjects,"  said  the  engi- 
neer, "  for  I  know  children  are  sometimes  taught  very 
inaccurately,  and  then  they  have  such  confused  ideas, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  make  them  understand  what  is 
meant.  A  young  lad  was  once  sent  to  me  to  be  turn- 
ed into  a  surveyor,  who  could  for  some  time  understand 
nothing  that  I  endeavoured  to  explain  to  him  ;  because, 
though  he  talked  of  an  angle,  and  a  right  angle,  he  did 
not  know  clearly  what  was  meant  by  either ;  in  short, 
he  mistook  a  triangle  for  an  angle.  Had  he  confessed 
to  me  his  ignorance  at  once,  I  could  have  corrected  his 
error." 

"  Poor  boy,  he  had  been  ill  taught,  I  suppose,"  said 
Frank. 

"  You  have  been  well  taught,  and  ought  to  be  thank- 
ful for  it,"  said  the  engineer. 

"  Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  come  to  this  window, 
sir,"  interrupted  Frank.  "  Do  you  see  that  tower, at  a 
distance  ?  Could  you,  by  taking  angles,  as  you  stand 
here,  find  out  its  breadth  and  height,  without  going  to 
measure  any  part  of  it,  sir!" 

"  I  could,"  said  the  engineer. 

"  There,  Mary !  I  was  right,"  cried  Frank.  "  But  now, 
sir,  will  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to  explain  to  me  how  it 
is  done  ?" 


248  FRANK. 

"  I  would  be  so  very  kind,  if  I  could,"  answered  the 
good-natured  engineer ;  "  but  I  cannot ;  I  should  only 
puzzle  you.  If  I  were  to  attempt  to  explain  it,  you  could 
not  understand  me." 

"  Oh,  pray !  pray,  sir,  try !"  said  Mary,  "  I  dare  say 
Frank  would  understand  you." 

"  If  you  would  only  try,"  said  Frank,  "  I  will  tell  you 
honestly,  afterward,  if  I  don't — " 

"  I  am  sure  you  would,"  said  the  engineer ;  "  but  I  tell 
you  beforehand  that  it  is  impossible." 

Frank  looked  at  his  father,  hoping  that  he  knew  him 
better ;  and  that  he  would  say  that  it  was  possible.  His 
father  shook  his  head,  answering, 

"  It  is  impossible,  my  dear,  till  you  have  learned  a 
great  deal  more." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  much  disappointed,"  said  he,  "  for  I 
expected  that  I  should  have  known  all  these  things  this 
morning." 

"  But  could  you  reasonably  expect,  my  young  friend," 
said  the  engineer,  "  to  know  in  one  morning,  in  one 
hour,  in  one  quarter  of  an  hour,  what  I  have  been  many 
mornings,  many  days,  not  to  say  years,  in  learning?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Frank,  laughing,  "  that  would 
be  rather  unreasonable." 

"  Then  must  Frank  wait  till  he  is  grown  up  quite, 
mamma  V  said  Mary. 

"  No,  that  is  not  necessary,"  said  his  mother. 

"  How  old  must  he  be,  mamma,  before  he  can  under- 
stand them  ]" 

"  How  wise  must  he  be,  you  should  ask,  my  dear," 
said  his  mother  ;  "  for  his  being  able  to  understand  such 
things  will  not  depend  upon  the  number  of  years  he  has 
lived,  but  upon  what  he  learned  in  those  years." 

"  True,  madam,  there  is  Mr. ,  what's  his  name  ? 

the 'gentleman  who  rode  witli  us  the  other  day,  Mr.  Rog- 
ers, who  has  lived  more  years  than  I  have,  but  you  saw 
that  he  did  not  understand  these  things,"  said  the  en- 
gineer. 

'•  Nor  wish  to  understand  them,"  said  Frank :  "  that 
did  surprise  me." 

"  And  there  is  the  gardener's  boy,  Frank,"  said  his  fa- 
ther, "  who  is  not  many  years  older  than  you  are,  and 
he  understands  that  which  you  want  to  know." 

"  Does  he,  indeed  ]"  said  Frank.  "  Yes  ;  now  I  re- 
member seeing  in  his  book  drawings  of  triangles  and 


FRANK.  249 

circles,  and  I  could  not  guess  of  what  use  they  could 
be." 

"  His  father  said,  as  you  told  me,  that  he  was  learn- 
ing mathematics,"  said  Mary,  "  and  trig " 

"  Trigonometry,  I  suppose,"  said  the  engineer; 
"which,  translating  the  Greek  word  into  English  for 
you,  my  little  lady,  means  the  measuring  of  triangles." 

"  Of  triangles  !"  repeated  Frank,  taking  up  one  of  the 
paper  triangles  which  lay  upon  the  table,  and  looking 
at  it.  "  Can  measuring  this  have  any  thing  to  do  with 
the  measuring  that  tower  V 

■  "  Yes ;  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it,"  answered  the  engi- 
neer. "  I  cannot  explain  to  you  how ;  but  I  may,  without 
giving  you  any  false  ideas,  tell  you  in  general,  that  the 
power  we  possess  of  measuring  that  tower,  and  the  most 
distant  objects  that  can  be  seen  on  earth,  and  not  those 
only  on  earth,  but  those  in  the  heavens,  depends  upon 
our  understanding  the  properties  of  a  triangle  " 

"  If  the  gardener's  boy  has  learned  trigo-no-me-try," 
said  Mary,  "  why  cannot  Frank  1" 

"  Is  there  any  quick  way  of  learning  it  T"  asked  Frank. 

"  No,  there  is  no  quick  way,"  said  the  engineer. 

"  You  must  go  regularly  through  this,"  said  his  father, 
taking  down  a  book  from  the  bookcase. 

"  What  is  it  V  cried  Frank,  seizing  and  opening  it. 
"  The  very  thing  1  saw  with  the  gardener's  son,  Euclid's 
Elements  of  Geometry." 

"  A  square  is  a  figure  that  has  four — " 

"  Oh,  we  know  that,"  said  Mary,  looking  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  But  how  shall  I  understand  these  drawings  of  cir- 
cles and  triangles  ?"  said  Frank :  "  the  line  A  B  is  equal 
to  the  line  C  D;  proposition  the  1st,  proposition  the 
2d;  and  axiom  the  1st,  axiom  the  2d:  almost  as  hard 
sounding  and  difficult  as  the  beginning  of  the  Latin 
grammar." 

"  Yes,"  said  his  father,  "  in  the  beginning  of  all  sci- 
ences there  are  difficulties ;  a  sort  of  grammar  which 
must  be  learned  before  you  can  get  on  to  the  smooth 
and  pleasant  part." 

"  But  in  this  book,  and  in  this  science,  you  will  find," 
isaid  the  engineer,  "  that  each  step  leads  on  securely  to 
another :  not  one  will  ever  be  lost." 

"  That  is  a  comfort,"  said  Frank. 

"  But,"  said  Mary,"  "  I  hope  we  may  look  through  the 
L3 


250  ^         FRANK. 

telescope,  and  see  the  men  and  mountains  standing  on 
their  heads." 

The  engineer  promised  that  she  should.  But  he  had 
some  business  to  do  before  he  could  comply  with  her 
request ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  the  young  people  were 
desired  to  go  out. 

While  Mary  went  to  put  on  her  bonnet,  Frank  was 
left  in  the  hall  by  himself.  Several  of  the  engineer's 
books  and  instruments,  which  had  been  taken  out  of  his 
carriage,  were  lying  on  the  hall  table,  and  among  others, 
one  of  the  telescopes  belonging  to  his  theodolite. 

Frank  ventured  to  take  up  this  telescope,  which  he 
ought  not  to  have  touched ;  he  thought,  however,  that 
he  could  not  do  it  any  harm  by  just  looking  through  it. 
He  took  off  the  brass  cover  at  one  end,  and  slid  back 
the  brass  slide  at  the  other  end,  and  looked  through  it 
at  the  tower,  and  at  some  men  who  were  at  work  in  a 
distant  field. 

*'  What  can  be  the  reason,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  that 
these  men  seem  to  stand  on  their  heads  1  This  telescope 
looks  as  if  it  were  quite  the  same  as  my  father's.  I 
wish  I  could  find  out  the  reason.  I  should  be  so  glad 
to  prove  that  I  could  understand  it,  though  they  all  say 
I  cannot." 

He  saw  some  very  slight  wires,  as  he  thought  them, 
behind  one  of  the  glasses ;  and  as  there  were  none  such 
in  his  father's,  he  fancied  that  these  had  something  to 
do  with  the  secret  which  he  longed  to  discover. 

"  I  know  how  to  unscrew  this  glass,"  said  he,  "I  will 
not  do  it  the  least  harm." 

He  unscrewed  the  glass,  and  looking  into  the  tube, 
he  could  scarcely  see  what  had  appeared  to  him  to 
be  wires.  He  put  his  hand  in  to  feel  for  them. 
There  were  no  wires,  there  was  nothing  that  he  could 
feel — nothing !  except  some  very  slight  cobwebs.  These 
threw  no  light  on  his  difficulty ;  he  blew  them  away, 
and  despairing  of  making  farther  discoveries,  and  un- 
conscious of  the  injury  he  had  done  to  the  instrument, 
he  screwed  on  the  glass,  and  left  the  telescope,  as  he 
thought,  in  perfect  safety,  exactly  where  he  had  found 
it  on  the  table. 

Frank  having  no  idea  that  he  had  done  any  mischief, 
did  not  even  mention  to  Mary  his  having  looked  at  the 
telescope.  She  put  it  out  of  his  recollection  by  begin- 
ning to  talk  to  him  the  moment  she  saw  him  about  the 


FRANK.  251 

parrot's  cage,  the  door  of  which  had  been  broken ;  and 

Mrs.  Catharine,  who  was  now  standing  with  that  brokea 

door  in  her  hand,  was  anxious  that  it  should  be  mended 
immediately. 

Mary  had  undertaken  for  Frank  that  he  had  both  the 
power  and  the  inclination  quickly  to  accomplish  her 
wishes. 

Frank  instantly  ran  in  search  of  the  osiers  that  were 
necessary  for  the  work.  As  there  was  no  one  in  the 
housekeeper's  room  except  Mrs.  Catharine,  his  mother 
gave  them  leave  to  do  the  job  there,  and  to  take  the 
osiers  to  the  cage,  instead  of  carrying  the  cage  to  the 
osiers.  She,  moreover,  was  so  good  as  to  promise  that 
she  would  call  them  as  soon  as  the  engineer  had  finished 
writing  his  letters,  if  any  thing  entertaining  should  be 
going  on. 

The  repairs  of  Poll's  habitation  cost  Frank  more 
trouble  than  he  had  expected ;  as  it  often  happens,  he 
found  that  which  he  thought  could  be  done  in  five  min- 
utes, required  five-and-twenty. 

But  the  door  at  last  turned  easily  on  its  osier  hinges, 
and  Poll  was  just  replaced  in  her  cage,  when  their  atten- 
tion was  suddenly  roused  by  hearing  somebody  sobbing 
in  the  passage.  Mrs.  Catharine  opened  her  room  door, 
and  they  saw  a  black  boy  standing  in  a  corner  crying. 
Mrs.  Catharine  asked  what  was  the  matter.  The  boy 
began  to  stammer  something  in  broken  English;  but 
before  he  could  get  out  any  thing  intelligible,  a  man 
whom  Frank  recollected  to  be  one  of  the  engineer's  as- 
sistants, came  into  the  passage,  and  told  Mrs.  Catharine 
that  she  need  not  waste  her  pity  upon  this  boy. 

"  No  use,  ma'am,  listening  to  him,  or  asking  him  any 
questions,  for  he  is  a  sad  liar — never  can  speak  a  word 
of  truth.  His  master,  who  is  the  best  of  masters,  has 
done  all  he  can  to  cure  him,  and  so  have  I.  It  was 
but  last  week  he  was  guilty  of  a  falsehood,  and  his  mas- 
ter said,  and,  begging  your  pardon,  ma'am,  I  swore,  he 
should  be  parted  with  the  next  lie  he  told ;  and  he  has 
told  a  lie  now,  and  he  is  to  go  ;  that  is  what  he  is  crying 
for,  and  nobody  can  help  him." 

"  Nobody  can  help  him,  to  be  sure,  if  he  is  a  liar,"  said 
Mrs.  Catharine,  who  held  liars  in  just  abhorrence. 

"  But  are  they  sure  he  is  a  liar  ?"  said  Frank. 

"  He  cannot  deny  it,"  said  the  man. 

The  negro  boy  went  on  sobbing;  and  when  Mrs. 


252  FRANK. 

Catharine  asked  if  he  had  any  thing  to  say  for  himself, 
he  could  only  say, 

"  Me  liar  last  week,  ma'am,  yes ;  to-day,  no  liar — no 
lieP' 

"  Oh,  if  you  were  a  liar  last  week,"  said  Mrs.  Catha- 
rine, "  who  can  know  that  you  are  not  telling  a  lie  this 
minute  1" 

The  boy  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  cried  moxe 
violently  than  before. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  nor  nobody  can  help  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Catharine :  "  I  have  nothing  to  say  for  liars.  Miss 
Mary,  Master  Frank,  you  had  better  go  away,  if  you 
please  ;  you  have  no  farther  business  here." 

"  But,"  said  Mary,  turning  back,  as  they  reluctantly 
went  up  stairs,  "  I  think  he  is  telling  the  truth  now  ;  are 
you  sure,  Catharine,  that  he  has  not  told  the  truth  to- 
day V 

"  Pray,  good  Catharine,  find  that  out,  wiD  you,"  said 
Frank. 

Mrs.  Catharine,  whose  comitenance  now  looked  se- 
vere, as  it  always  did  when  she  thought  a  liar  stood 
near  her,  said  she  must  leave  it  to  his  master,  who  knew 
his  character,  to  settle  the  business ;  it  was  not  proper 
for  her  to  interfere.  "  When  a  boy  was  a  liar,  and  told 
a  lie  last  week,  who  can  know,"  said  she,  "  that  he  is 
not  telling  a  lie  this  minute  ]" 

"  But  since  he  confessed  that  he  told  a  falsehood  last 
week,"  said  Frank,  "  perhaps — do,  do,  good  Catharine, 
inquire  into  it.  You  know  papa  says  you  are  a  just 
woman." 

"  Well,  well,  go  you  both  of  you  out  of  the  way,  in 
the  first  and  foremost  place,  for  I  am  sure  your  papa 
and  mamma  would  not  be  pleased  to  see  you  here, 
meddling  with  such  things — so  up  stairs  this  moment." 

Up  stairs  that  moment  they  went,  and  Frank,  followed 
by  Mary,  who  could  hardly  keep  pace  with  him,  ran  to 
the  library,  where  he  had  left  the  engineer  writing :  but 
he  was  gone. 

"  Well,  Headlong !"  said  his  father,  when  Frank 
threw  open  the  door,  "  What  now  V 

"  And  why  dO  you  look  so  terribly  disappointed, 
Mary  V  said  Frank's  mother :  "  I  told  you  that  I  would 
call  you  as  soon  as  the  engineer  could  show  you  his 
telescope." 

"  Oh,  it  is  something  of  much  more  consequence," 
said  Mary. 


FRANK.  253 

Prank  told  all  they  had  heard ;  "  and  thongh  Catha- 
rine says  it  is  not  our  business,  yet  it  is  everybody's 
business  to  see  justice  done,  especially  to  a  poor  black 
boy,  who  cannot  speak  for  himself,  is  it  not,  papa?" 
said  Frank.  "  I  will  go  and  find  out  that  good-natured 
master  of  his,  and  ask  him  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  the 
affair  this  minute." 

Frank's  father  held  his  hand,  however,  and  prevented 
him  from  going ;  for  though  he  liked  his  eagerness  to 
have  justice  done  to  the  negro  boy,  he  thought,  he  said, 
that  this  boy's  master  must  know  his  character  better 
than  any  stranger  could ;  and  that  his  master  would  in 
all  probability  take  care  to  find  out  the  truth  without 
Frank's  interference. 

"  But,"  said  Frank,  "  they  are  going  to  turn  him  out 
of  the  house  directly.  Only  just  let  me  find  the  engi- 
neer, and  tell  him  this." 

"  Here  he  is,  my  dear,"  said  Frank's  mother ;  "  now 
do  not  be  in  a  hurry.  Speak  distinctly;  for  I  could 
hardly  understand  your  story,  you  spoke  so  very 
quickly." 

The  engineer  came  into  the  room  with  his  telescope 
in  his  hand  ;  that  telescope  with  which  Frank  had  med- 
dled. A  sudden  flash  came  across  his  mind :  a  thrill 
came  all  over  him. 

"  Miss  Mary,"  said  the  engineer,  "  I  am  sorry  that  I 
cannot  keep  my  promise  to  you  yet ;  but  I  must  first 
set  to  rights  something  which  has  been  broken  in  my 
telescope.  The  crosswires,"  continued  he,  turning  to 
Frank's  father,  "  I  should  say  the  cross  cobweb  threads 
have  been  broken,  and  swept  away,  as  I  believe,  by  a 
little  lying  boy." 

"  No ;  they  were  broken  by  me,"  interrupted  Frank, 
stepping  forward  and  standing  firm,  though  he  grew  ex- 
tremely pale. 

"  By  you !"  repeated  Frank's  father  aaid  mother,  and 
Mary,  with  astonishment. 

"  By  you !"  repeated  the  engineer.  "  I  never  thought 
it  possible  !  and  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  committing 
a  great  injustice." 

"  Oh,  sir !"  said  Frank,  '•'  stop  them  from  turning  a  way 
the  negro  boy,  and  punish  me  as  you  please.  May  I  go 
and  tell  them  V 

♦'  Stay  where  you  are,  Frank,"  said  his  father. 

The  engineer  went  immediately  to  repair  the  injustice 
22 


254  FRANK. 

that  had  been  done  to  the  poor  boy.  Frank's  father  and 
mother  continued  in  the  meantime  quite  silent.  Mary 
saw  that  they  were  much  displeased :  she  hoped,  how- 
ever, that  it  would  all  be  over  when  the  engineer,  re- 
turning, said  that  he  had  seen  his  servant,  and  that  the 
negro  boy  was  safe  and  happy  again. 

Frank,  relieved  from  a  dreadful  suspense,  now  took 
breath,  and  he  went  forward  towards  the  table  on  which 
the  telescope  lay.  He  told  exactly  what  he  had  done, 
when  his  curiosity  had  tempted  him  to  meddle  with  it, 
but  said, 

"  I  assure  you,  sir,  that  I  did  not  know  that  I  had 
done  any  mischief,  or  I  would  have  told  you  of  it  that 
n*oment.  I  never  guessed  that  the  negro  boy  was  ac- 
cused of  it.  I  ara  sure  1  never  thought  that  his  crying 
had  any  thing  to  do  with  my  having  meddled  with  the 
telescope." 

"  But  you  knew,  Frank,"  said  his  father, "  that  you  did 
wrong  in  meddling  with  what  was  not  your  own — very 
wrong.  Whether  you  did  mischief  or  not  was  mere  ac- 
cident. You  were  too  ignorant,  you  see,  to  know 
whether  you  had  injured  the  instrument  or  not." 

"  You  thought  that  you  were  only  brushing  away 
useless  cobwebs,"  said  the  engineer,  "  when  you  were 
destroying  an  essential  part  of  the  instrument." 

Mary  said  she  hoped  that  it  could  be  repaired.  The 
engineer  said  that  it  could,  and  Frank  was  glad  ;  but, 
looking  up  at  his  father,  he  saw  that  the  displeasure  in 
his  countenance  was  not  abated. 

"  You  have  done  wrong,  Frank,"  repeated  he.  "  And 
though  the  mischief  can  be  repaired,  that  does  not  di- 
minish your  fault.  You  knew  that  it  was  not  strictly 
honourable  or  honest  to  touch  what  was  not  yours. 
And  when  once  you  deviate  from  strict  honesty,  no  one 
can  tell  what  the  consequence  may  be.  Not  only  a 
valuable  instrument,  but  the  character  and  happiness  of 
one  of  your  fellow-creatures,  might  have  been  destroyed, 
even  by  this,  which  you  thought  an  error  not  worth 
mentioning,  and  had  forgotten  while  you  were  mending 
a  parrot's  cage." 

"  Let  this  be  a  warning  to  you,  Frank,  as  long  as  you 
live,"  said  his  mother. 

And  that  it  might  be  so,  that  the  impression  might  not 
be  lightly  effaced  from  his  mind,  his  father  ordered  him 
to  go  to  his  own  room,  and  forbid  him  from  mixing  with 


FRANK.  •  255 

the  rest  of  the  family,  and  from  seeing  this  day  any 
thing  that  the  engineer  was  going  to  show  them. 

The  engineer  was  too  sensible  a  man  to  ask  that 
Frank  should  be  spared  this  punishment ;  he  knew  that 
the  purpose  of  just  punishment  is  to  do  future  good. 
Far  from  begging  that  Frank  might  stay  and  be  forgiven, 
he  strengthened  the  right  impression. 

"  I  am  going  to  mend  what  you  broke,  Frank,"  said 
he,  "  and  1  know  that  it  would  entertain  you  to  see  how 
this  is  done.  But  before  I  heard  what  your  father  has 
just  now  said  to  you,  I  had  in  my  own  mind  determined 
not  to  let  you  have  this  pleasure.  I  think,"  continued 
he,  speaking  to  Frank's  mother,  and  laying  a  detaining 
hand  upon  Frank,  who  was  leaving  the  room,  "  I  think 
that  people  are  mistaken  who  say  that  when  children 
tell  the  truth  and  confess  a  fault,  they  should  not  be 
punished  for  it  in  any  way.  I  have  always  let  my  chil- 
dren feel  the  natural  consequences,  or  receive  the  just 
punishment  for  their  faults,  even  when  confessed ;  else 
they  would  be  quite  deceived  as  to  what  would  happen 
to  them  in  real  life.  And  besides,  there  would  be  little 
or  no  merit  in  telling  the  truth  if  people  were  never  to 
suffer  by  it.  My  boys  can  tell  the  truth  and  take  the 
consequences,  thank  Heaven ;  and  so  I  see  can  yours." 

This  was  a  comfort  to  Frank ;  he  walked  more  firmly 
out  of  the  room.  Mary  followed  him,  but  he  would  not 
let  her  share  his  punishment. 

"  No,  Mary,"  said  he,  "  you  have  done  nothing  wrong : 
go  back  and  be  happy,  or  I  shall  be  more  unhappy." 

Mary  left  him,  because  she  was  afraid  of  making  him 
more  unhappy.  But  though  she  saw  and  heard  many 
entertaining  things  this  day ;  though  a  microscope  was 
lent  to  her,  with  which  she  saw  the  spider  draw  out  the 
fine  cobweb  thread  which  was  to  repair  the  damage ; 
and  though  she  watched  with  breathless  attention  the 
nice  operation  of  replacing  the  cross  threads,  and 
though  she  learned  their  use,  and  even  though  she  saw 
in  this  wonderful  glass  the  men  and  mountains  on  their 
heads — yet  none  of  the  things  she  saw  or  heard  pleased 
her  half  as  much  as  if  Frank  had  shared  her  pleasure. 


Frank  had  one  comfort,  and  a  great  comfort  it  was ; 
during  the  hours  when  he  was  sitting  lonely  in  his  own 


256  PRANK. 

room,  he  heard  the  negro  boy  whistling  merrily.  Good 
Mrs.  Catharine  came  in  the  first  interval  which  the  bu- 
siness of  the  day  allowed  her,  to  tell  Frank  how  happy 
the  poor  black  boy  had  been  ever  since  his  master  had 
•been  convinced  that  he  had  told  the  truth. 

"  And  I  am  convinced,"  continued  she,  "  that  what  has 
now  happened,  and,  in  short,  his  being  saved  from  harm 
by  your  telling  just  the  plain  truth,  will  show  him  more 
to  his  own  feelings  the  use  and  beauty  of  truth,  as  I  may 
say,  than  all  the  scoldings  he  ever  had :  ay,  and  than 
all  the  whippings  about  lying  which  he  had  with  his  old 
master." 

This  poor  negro  had  been  but  a  very  short  time  with 
the  engineer  ;  he  had  formerly  lived  with  the  cruel  cap- 
tain of  a  slave-ship,  and  tyranny  had  made  him  a  cow- 
ard and  liar. 

The  next  morning  Frank  heard  him  singing  the  fol- 
lowing ditty,  while  he  was  brushing  his  master's  coat, 
in  the  court  near  the  window  of  Frank's  room. 

"  Mungo  happy  man,  sir, 
Never  lie  again,  sir, 
Mungo  he  may  thank 
Truth-tell-Master  Frank." 

These  negro  rhymes  gave  more  pleasure  than  Frank 
had  ever  received  from  any  comphment  before,  either 
in  prose  or  verse.  This  day  all  was  bright  to  Frank 
within  and  without.  His  friend  the  engineer  shook  him 
by  the  hand  when  he  bid  him  good  morning.  And 
Frank  observed  with  pleasure  that  no  precautions  were 
taken  to  prevent  him  from  touching  the  instruments ; 
but  that  his  honour  was  trusted,  and  that  all  seemed  se- 
cure that  he  would  not  repeat  his  fault. 

This  day  he  was  allowed  to  follow  the  engineer  about 
wherever  he  went.  At  about  twelve  o'clock  he  heard 
him  say,  "  I  must  go  out  now,  and  take  an  observation 
of  the  sun." 

An  instrument  which  Frank  had  never  before  seen 
"was  now  produced.  It  was  like  a  triangle  made  of 
brass,  and  there  were  on  it  two  small  mirrors,  one  in 
the  centre,  and  the  other  between  the  centre  and  the 
circumference  of  the  circle ;  there  was  also  a  telescope 
attached  to  the  instrument. 

A  cup  or  box,  filled  with  quicksilver,  was  placed  on 
a  smooth  part  of  the  gravel  walk  in  the  sunshine.     Upon 


FRANK.  257 

the  quicksilver  floated  a  circular  piece  of  flat  glass,  and 
through  this,  in  the  quicksilver,  was  seen  the  image  of 
the  sun. 

Frank  was  going  to  ask  some  question ;  but  his  moth- 
er, who  was  standing  beside  him,  put  her  finger  on  his 
lips,  and  he  was  silent.  All  were  silent  for  some  sec- 
onds, while  the  engineer  attentively  looked  through  the 
telescope  at  the  image  of  the  sun  in  the  quicksilver. 
When  he  had  finished  his  observation,  the  engineer  held 
the  instrument  for  Frank,  and  bid  him  look  through  the 
telescope  at  the  quicksilver.  Frank  looked,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  I  see  two  suns !  both  as  red  as  blood — one 
dancing  about — now  it  is  still — now  they  are  coming 
close  together — now  they  almost  join — they  quite  join! 
Oh  J  Mary,  look  at  them." 

Mary  looked,  and  was  more  delighted  than  Frank 
seemed  to  be  ;  for  Frank,  having  once  gratified  his  curi- 
osity by  the  sight,  began  to  look  uneasy. 

"  I  want  to  know  the  reason  of  all  this,"  said  he ; 
"  but  I  know  that  if  I  ask  the  reason,  or  the  use  of  this, 
that  you  will  tell  me  that  I  cannot  understand  these 
things  yet." 

"  True,"  said  the  engineer,  "  I  must  be  cruel  again  to 
him,  Mary  ;  I  can  tell  him  only  that  this  instrument  is 
<;alled  a  sextant,  and  that  little  vessel  full  of  quicksilver 
is  called  an  artificial  horizon;  and  that  what  I  have 
been  doing  is  called  taking  the  altitude  of  the  sun  :  hara 
words,  without  any  meaning  to  yon  as  yet." 

"  But,"  said  his  father,  "  it  is  something  even  to  have 
had  your  ears  accustomed  to  them,  and  to  have  learned 
to  join  the  names  with  the  sight  of  these  things.  You 
will  know  them  again  when  you  see  them,  and  your 
ears,  eyes,  and  understanding  will  not  be  all  puzzled  at 
once,  as  they  are  at  this  moment." 

Frank,  mute  and  motionless,  stood  watching  the 
packing  up  of  the  sextant,  which  was  now  put  into  its 
box,  and  of  the  quicksilver  cup  and  mirror,  which  were 
put  into  their  case-  The  lid  was  closed  down  and  lock- 
ed, and  the  engineer  ordered  it  to  be  carried  off. 

Frank  at  this  instant  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  which  made 
all  eyes  turn  towards  him.  He  looked  such  a  disconso- 
late figure,  that  the  engineer,  his  father,  his  mother,  and 
even  Mary,  could  not  forbear  laughing. 
,  "  Might  I  ask  one  question,  sir,"  cr^id  Frank  to  the  en- 
gineer, taking  hold  of  his  hand. 
22* 


^8  FRANK. 

"  No,  not  one  more,"  replied  his  father,  •*  you  most 
jiot  be  troublesome,  Frank.  Let  go  that  hand:  you 
have  had  more  than  your  share  of  him  and  of  the  con- 
versation ;  now  your  mother  and  1  must  have  our 
share,  and  you  must  not  torment  this  much-enduring 
gentleman  with  any  more  questions." 

The  engineer  shook  Frank's  hand  kindly  as  he  let  it 
go,  and  assured  his  father  and  mother  that  he  had  not 
been  tormented;  that  he  always  felt  pleased,  not 
plagued,  by  the  sensible  questions  of  children.  He  was 
used  to  children,  he  said,  and  fond  of  them. 

Mary  asked  if  he  had  any  of  his  own. 

"  Yes,  thank  Heaven !  I  have,"  answered  he. 

Mary  was  going  to  ask  how  many  ;  but  recollecting 
that  Frank  had  been  desired  not  to  ask  any  more  ques- 
tions, she  stopped.  The  engineer,  understanding  this, 
smiled,  and,  in  answer  to  what  she  wished  to  ask,  held 
up  four  fingers  of  his  hand.  Then,  accepting  an  invita- 
tion to  walk  round  the  grounds,  he  offered  his  arm  to 
Frank's  mother,  and  Frank  and  Mary  asked  and  obtain- 
ed permission  to  go  with  them.  They  were  in  hopes 
that  he  would  tell  something  more  about  his  children. 

And  they  learned,  in  consequence  of  his  answers  to 
the  questions  which  their  mother  asked,  that  two  of  his 
children  were  boys  ;  that  the  eldest,  Lewis,  was  a  year 
and  a  half  older  than  Frank,  and  had  been  at  school  two 
years ;  the  youngest  was  but  six  years  old,  and  was  to 
remain  at  home  some  time  longer. 

Now  Frank,  who  knew  that  he  was  soon  to  go  to 
school  himself,  listened  eagerly,  and  so  did  Mary,  in 
hopes  of  hearing  something  about  this  school  and  these 
boys.  But,  unluckily,  nothing  more  was  said  about 
Lewis,  or  his  brother,  or  his  school. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  education,  and  seemed 
above  Frank  and  Mary's  comprehension ;  yet  they  felt 
still  interested  in  listening  to  it,  because  it  in  some  way 
concerned  themselves.  The  engineer  said  something 
in  so  low  a  voice  that  it  was  inaudible  by  the  young- 
sters who  were  walking  before  him ;  but  it  was  clear 
that  it  was  quite  audible  (that  is,  to  be  heard)  by  those 
who  were  walking  with  him.  For  Frank's  father  and 
mother  said  with  emphasis, 

"  This  gives  me  great  pleasure." 
And  Mary  whispered  to  Frank,  '•  I  am  sure  that  must 
be  some  thiJagabout  you— do  you  think  we  may  hear  it  1" 


FRANK.  259 

"  No,  we  must  not  listen  to  that,  I  believe,"  said 
Frank  ; "  but  hush  now,  Mary,  he  is  speaking  loud  again." 

"  Madam,"  said  the  engineer,  "  you  are  doing  for  your 
son  what  I  should  have  wished  to  have  done  for  my 
own  boy ;  but  that  my  business  takes  me  so  often  from 
home,  that  I  cannot  do  as  much  for  him  as  I  could 
wish." 

Frank's  father  answered  that  in  these  days  of  educa- 
tion, there  was,  perhaps,  as  great  danger  of  doing  too 
much  as  of  doing  too  little  for  children.  He  had  ob- 
served, he  said,  that  most  of  his  acquaintance  had  been 
either  too  careless  or  too  careful  of  their  boys  before 
they  were  sent  to  school.  Sometimes  they  were  hu- 
moured in  every  thing  at  home,  because,  as  their  pa- 
rents said,  they  would  have  hardships  enough  at  school : 
but  this  made  those  hardships  the  greater,  because  the 
master  was  then  to  whip  the  ill-temper  out  of  the  spoil- 
ed child  by  main  force ;  and,  perhaps,  in  so  doing,  to 
break  his  spirit  for  ever.  Some  boys  are  sent  from 
home  in  such  gross  ignorance,  that  they  must  work 
doubly  hard,  or  be  left  behind  their  companions,  or  be 
exposed  to  shame  eternal,  or  to  eternal  flogging ;  other 
parents  run  into  the  contrary  extreme,  and  by  way  of 
preparing  them  to  get  on,  or  to  get  before  their  competi- 
tors at  school,  cram  them  with  lessons,  disgust  them  with 
learning,  and  weary  the  runners  before  the  race  begins. 

"  These  overtaught  children  are  often  the  most  to  be 
pitied,"  said  the  engineer;  "because,  as  far  as  I  have 
observed,  in  the  midst  of  all  their  teaching,  in  science 
at  least,  they  are  taught  nothing  accurately ;  and  when 
they  go  to  school,  or  into  the  world,  they  are  all  in  the 
condition  of  my  puzzled  lad,  with  his  angles  turned  tri- 
angles." 

"  I  pity  the  poor  child,"  said  Frank's  mother,  "  who, 
when  he  goes  from  home,  fancying  that  he  knows  a 
great  deal,  finds,  when  he  gets  into  the  midst  of  a  great 
school,  that  he  knows  nothing  rightly,  and  that  he  must 
unlearn  all  that  he  has  learned  at  home  :  double,  double, 
toil  and  trouble,  both  to  schoolmaster  and  to  child." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  engineer,  "  1  hardly  know  which  is 
in  that  case  most  to  be  pitied." 

As  soon  as  the  conversation  came  to  this  point, 
Frank  and  Mary,  who  had  no  pity  for  schoolmasters, 
and  who  did  not  know  why  they  should  have  any,  look- 
ed at  each  other  as  if  they  had  said, 


S60  PRANK. 

"  Do  not  you  think  this  is  growing  tiresome  1" 

Then,  by  mutual  consent,  at  the  same  instant  both 
set  off  to  their  desert  island,  where  they  were  very 
happy,  working  away  at  Friday's  new  garden,  till  a 
shower  of  hail  drove  them  home. 

When  they  went  into  the  library  they  were  yet 
breathless  with  running ;  but  they  stopped  their  puffing 
and  panting,  for  their  mother  was  reading  to  their  father 
and  the  engineer  something  which  seemed  to  be  very 
entertaining ;  they  were  smiling  as  they  stood  before 
the  sofa-table  listening  to  her :  and  as  he  came  in,  Frank 
thought  that  he  heard  his  own  name,  but  of  this  he  was 
uncertain.  He  peeped  over  his  mother's  shoulder  to 
see  what  book  she  was  reading.  It  was  a  voyage  of 
discovery  to  the  great  Loo-choo  island,  on  the  coast  of 
Corea. 

His  father  told  him,  that  of  this  island  and  its  inhabi- 
tants little  or  nothing  was  known  in  England  before 
the  account  of  this  expedition  was  published. 

Mary  asked  whether  the  inhabitants  of  Loo-choo 
were  savages  or  civilized  people  ? 

Frank  said  he  supposed,  from  the  sound  of  the  name, 
that  they  were  Chinese. 

His  father  said  they  were  not  savages  ;  very  far  from 
it :  that  they  were  more  like  the  Chinese  than  any 
other  people  of  whom  we  have  any  account. 

So  Frank  saw,  by  one  of  the  prints  of  the  men  and 
women  to  which  his  mother  turned. 

"  These  people,  though  civilized,  are  ignorant  of  many 
of  our  arts ;  quite  as  ignorant  as  you  are,  Frank,  of  the 
use  of  such  instruments  as  you  saw  this  morning." 

"  And  one  of  these  Loo-choo  people,"  said  the  engi- 
neer, "  an  intelligent  young  man  of  the  name  of  Made- 
ra, was  as  anxious  as  3'ou  were,  Frank,  to  understand 
the  sextant,  and  as  much  mortified  when  he  could  not 
at  once  comprehend  it  and  all  its  uses." 
-  The  engineer  drew  Frank  towards  him  on  one  side, 
•Mary  on  the  other,  and  putting  an  arm  round  each — 

"Now,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "  that  we  are  comfortably 
settled,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  read  on." 

And  Frank's  mother  read  on  as  follows  : — 

"  But  Madera  was  not  a  man  to  be  thrown  into  de- 
spair by  difficulty ;  on  the  contrary,  he  persevered  in 
observing  with  his  sextant ;  and  the  more  the  difficulty 
was  made  apparent,  the  more  keenly  he  laboured  to 


FRANK.  261 

overcome  it.  The  progress  which  he  made  in  a  few 
hours,  in  the  mere  practical  operation  of  taking  angles 
and  altitudes,  was  not  surprising,  because  there  is,  in 
fact,  not  much  difficulty  in  it ;  but  he  was  no  wise  satis- 
fied with  this  proficiency,  and  seemed  anxious  to  apply 
his  knowledge  to  some  useful  purpose. 


"  With  a  sextant  and  stand  I  made  him  take  the  dis- 
tance between  the  sun  and  moon  four  or  five  times ;  on 
every  occasion  he  was  wonderfully  near  the  truth.  We 
endeavoured  to  confine  him  to  one  object,  merely  to 
ascertain  the  time  of  apparent  noon,  and  I  think  we 
succeeded  in  explaining  to  him  how  this  was  to  be 
done. 

"  Some  time  after  this,  and  just  before  the  English 
ships  were  to  leave  the  island,  Madera  came  on  board 
with  the  sextant  in  his  hand ;  he  was  in  such  distress 
that  he  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  about.  In  this  dis- 
tracted state  he  sat  down  to  breakfast  with  us,  during 
which  he  continued  lighting  his  pipe  and  smoking  as 
fast  as  he  could;  drinking  and  eating  whatever  was 
placed  before  him.  After  he  had  a  little  recovered 
himself,  he  asked  what  books  it  would  be  necessary  to 
read  to  enable  him  to  make  use  of  the  sextant ;  I  gave 
him  a  Nautical  Almanack,  and  told  him  that  he  must 
understand  that  in  the  first  instance  :  he  opened  it,  and 
looking  at  the  figures,  held  up  his  hands  in  despair,  and 
was  at  last  forced  to  confess  that  it  was  a  hopeless 
business.  He  therefore  put  the  sextant  up,  and  bade  us 
farewell." 

"  Poor  Madera !" 

"I  think,"  said  Mary,  "that  Madera  is  very  like 
Frank." 

"  But  fortunately,"  said  the  engineer,  "  Frank  does 
not  live  at  the  Island  of  Loo-choo ;  nor  is  his  instructer," 
added  he,  looking  at  Frank's  father,  going  "  to  sail  away 
to-morrow,  and  leave  him  without  books,  or  without  any 
means  of  satisfying  his  laudable  curiosity." 

Frank  and  Mary  had  been  so  much  interested  by  what 
they  had  heard  of  Madera,  that  the  moment  their  moth- 
er laid  down  the  book,  they  asked  leave  to  look  for  the 
place  where  Madera's  name  was  first  mentioned,  and 
read  all  they  could  find  concerning  him  ;  his  dexterity  in 
managing  his  knife  and  fork  the  first  time  he  dined  with 


&6^  FRANK. 

the  English  in  the  captain's  cabin;  his  quickness  in 
learning  to  speak  English,  and  in  observing  all,  even 
the  most  trifling  customs ;  his  surprise  when  he  first 
heard  one  of  the  officers  read  from  a  book,  and  his  great 
curiosity  to  know  how  that  wonder  was  performed; 
his  agility  in  dancing ;  his  politeness,  affection,  grati- 
tude, and,  above  all,  attachment  to  his  parents,  and  wife, 
and  children,  which  prevented  him  from  accepting  the 
English  captain's  offer  to  bring  him  to  England, 

All  these  things  delighted  Frank  and  Mary ;  so  that 
they  determined  that,  at  the  first  convenient  opportu- 
nity, their  Robinson  Crusoe's  island  should  be  turned 
into  the  great  Loo-choo  island ;  and  that  Frank  should 
be  turned  into  Madera,  and  Mary  into  the  English  cap- 
tain. But  they  had  sense  enough  to  agree  that  this 
must  not  be  done  during  the  time  that  the  engineer 
should  stay  with  them. 

He  was  very  busy  drawing  plans  part  of  this  day. 
Frank  and  Mary  took  great  care  not  to  be  troublesome 
to  him  ;  and  therefore  they  were  permitted  to  stay  in 
the  same  room  with  him  while  he  was  at  work,  and  he 
allowed  them  to  look  into  his  portfolio  at  some  plans  of 
bridges  and  buildings.  They  tried  to  build  one  of  these, 
a  tower,  with  their  little  bricks,  which  the  engineer  did 
not,  like  Master  Tom,  call  baby's  toys. 

Frank  and  Mary  had  often  tried  to  build  a  bridge,  but 
they  never  could  succeed  in  forming  an  arch,  because 
they  had  not  all  the  different  shaped  bricks  that  were 
necessary.  To  their  great  delight,  the  engineer  gave 
them  a  model  of  a  bridge  which  could  be  taken  to  pieces 
and  put  together  again. 

After  looking  at  some  of  the  plans  which  he  found 
in  the  portfolio,  Frank  thought  that  he  could  draw  the 
plan  of  a  house  without  much  difficulty. 

There  was  one  thing  that  puzzled  him  a  little ;  he 
saw  at  the  bottom  of  each  plan  the  words,  by  a  scale  of 
one  tivenlieth  of  an  inch  to  a  foot.  However,  he  set  to 
work  at  his  drawing,  and  he  said  to  Mary, 

"  I  will  draw  a  plan  of  this  house  for  you." 

But  when  his  plan  was  finished,  Mary  observed  that 
some  of  the  rooms  looked  larger  than  they  were  in  re- 
ality, and  some  smaller.  When  he  showed  his  draw- 
ing to  his  friend  the  engineer,  he  found  many  more 
faults  with  it. 

"  This  library,  in  which  we  are  now  sitting,"  said  he 


FKANlt.  263 

"  is,  I  should  think,  fully  two  feet  broader  than  the  break- 
fast-room. Your  drawing-room  and  dining-room  in  this 
plan  are  the  same  size,  and  yet  in  reality  you  know  that 
one  is  longer  than  the  other.  And  the  breakfast-room  is 
not  half  its  real  breadth." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Frank ;  "  but  I  know  the  measures 
of  the  rooms,  and  I  will  write  them  in  nice  little  figures, 
as  I  see  in  your  plans,  then  everybody  can  know  the 
sizes." 

"  Then  the  figures  would  do  as  well  without  your 
drawing.     Where  are  the  stairs  in  your  house  !" 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  the  stairs,"  said  Frank ;  "  but  that  does 
not  signify,  because  I  can  mark  the  place  for  them  here 
in  the  hall :  and  as  to  the  breakfast-room,  that  is  very 
bad,  I  acknowledge,  because  1  forgot  the  passage,  and 
was  obliged  to  squeeze  it  out  of  the  breakfast-room." 

"  The  whole  house  is  much  longer  in  this  drawing 
than  it  ought  to  be,  and  none  of  the  rooms  are  in  right 
proportion." 

"  So  1  see." 

"As  you  know  the  measures  of  all  the  rooms,  you 
might  easily  have  represented  them  in  their  right  pro-  " 
portions,"  said  his  friend,  "  if  you  had  drawn  your  plan 
by  a  scale." 

"  Would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  show  me  how  to  do 
that,"  said  Frank,  "  when  you  are  not  busy  V 

He  had  finished  all  his  business  for  this  morning,  he 
said,  and  he  was  very  willing  to  assist  Frank. 

"  First,"  said  he,  "  we  must  know  the  measure  of  the 
house,  of  which  you  want  to  draw  the  plan." 

Of  this,  Frank  not  being  quite  certain,  he  said  that  he 
would  go  and  measure.  But  he  had  only  a  foot  rule. 
Mary  oflfered  her  riband-yard,  which  was  three  feet 
long. 

But  the  engineer  said  he  could  lend  them  something 
that  would  do  the  business  better.  He  bid  Frank  ring 
the  bell,  and  desired  that  all  the  things  that  were  in  the 
lefthand  pocket  of  his  carriage  should  be  brought  to 
,  him.  Among  these  was  a  measuring-tape,  divided  into 
feet  and  inches.  This  he  lent  to  Frank,  who  went  out 
with  Mary,  and  measured  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
house  exactly.  It  was  eighty  feet  long,  and  sixty  feet 
broad. 

His  friend  then  showed  him  how  to  express  this  in 
drawing  by  a  scale.  He  showed  him  on  his  foot  rule 
the  divisions  into  inches,  and  he  said,        • 


St54  PRANK. 

'♦  We  will  draw  it  by  a  scale  of  a  tenth  of  an  inch  to 
a  foot.  Eighty  tenths  of  an  inch,  how  many  whole 
inches  is  that  ?"  i 

Frank  instantly  answered,  "  Eight,"  '-> ' 

His  friend  showed  him  how,  with  the  compasses,  to 
take  exactly  the  measure  of  eight  inches,  and  to  mark 
that  down  with  the  compasses  on  the  paper,  and  in  the 
same  manner  he  took  the  measure  of  the  breadth  of  the 
house,  and  one  after  another  of  all  the  rooms.  This 
was  not  done  without  some  difficulty,  for  Frank  fre- 
quently let  the  points  of  the  compasses  slip  upon  th6 
ivory  rule,  and  in  taking  the  compasses  from  the  rule  to 
the  paper,  held  them  so  as  sometimes  to  close,  and  some- 
times to  open  them,  and  the  measure  was  to  be  taken 
over  again.  His  friend  showed  him  how  to  hold  the 
compasses  so  as  to  prevent  this.  And  as  Frank  had 
been  already  used  to  drawing  lines  straight  and  parallel, 
the  plan  of  his  house  was  now  tolerably  neatly  finish- 
ed ;  and  this  tnne  the  staircase  was  not  forgotten ;  the 
breakfast-room  was  not  robbed  to  make  space  for  the 
passage,  and  the  library  was  of  its  just  length,  and,  as 
Mary  observed,  none  of  the  rooms  were  too  large  or  too 
small — all  were  like  reality. 

"  And  now,"  said  Frank,  "  that  I  know  how  to  draw 
by  a  scale,  Mary,  you  shall  never  see  such  wretched 
plans  as  this,"  added  he,  crumpling  up  his  first  plan  as 
he  spoke,  and  throwing  it  away. 

After  the  portfolio  of  drawings  had  been  exhausted, 
Frank  and  Mary  were  entertained  with  the  sight  of  some 
books  of  prints  of  temples  and  ruins,  at  which  the  en- 
gineer and  their  father  were  looking.  The  engineer 
often  stopped,  as  he  was  turning  over  the  leaves,  to  point 
out  to  them  the  characteristic  differences  between  the 
styles  of  architecture  in  different  countries  and  at  dif- 
ferent periods ;  and  when  he  saw  how  much  they  were 
interested  in  this  sort  of  information,  he  promised  that 
he  would  give  them  a  little  work  on  architecture,  which 
a  friend  of  his  was  writing  for  young  people. 

Mary  said  she  hoped  that  it  would  be  very  entertain- 
ing ;  "  And  now,  sir,  that  you  are  not  busy,"  said  she, 
"  could  you  be  so  good  as  to  show  us  on  the  globe  the 
great  Loo-choo  island  ?" 

"  He  could  not  show  it  to  her,"  he  said,  "  because,  as 
it  had  been  but  lately  discovered,  it  had  not  been  drawn 
on  the  globe ;  but  he  would  mark  the  place  where  it 
ought  to  be." 


PRANK.  265 

"  Here,"  said  Frank,  going  to  the  globe,  "  here  is  Chi- 
na, and  here  is  the  coast  of  Corea,"  said  he. 

"  Then  here  must  be  the  great  Loo-choo  islands,"  said 
the  engineer,  marking  the  spot. 

*'  But  how  can  you  tell  so  quickly,  and  know  so  exact- 
ly, where  the  island  must  be  V  said  Frank ;  "  I  cannot 
even  guess,  because  the  map  in  this  book  is  of  such  a 
different  size  from  the  globe." 

"  But  you  were  told  the  latitude  and  longitude  in  which 
Loo-choo  is  situated  :  look  for  those." 

Frank  had  been  shown  how  to  look  for  the  latitude 
and  longitude  of  any  place  ;  but  he  was  now  confused 
about  it ;  and  he  always  was  so,  because  he  could  never 
recollect  which  was  latitude  and  which  was  longitude. 

"  The  longitude,"  said  he,  "  I  always  think  must  be 
looked  for  on  these  lines,  which  go  from  the  top  at  the 
north  pole  to  the  bottom  of  the  south  pole,  the  long  way 
of  the  globe." 

"  As  longitude  sounds  like  long,  the  long  way,  that  is 
very  natural,"  said  Mary. 

His  mother  looked  a  little  ashamed,  and  said  that  she 
thought  that  she  must  have  taught  him  very  ill,  since  he 
had  been  so  much  confused  in  his  ideas  about  it :  but 
Frank  said  that  it  was  not  his  mother  who  had  first 
shown  him  the  difference  between  latitude  and  longi- 
tude, but  some  lady  who  happened  to  be  at  their  house, 
and  who,  it  seems,  did  not  know  it  herself.  And  Frank 
said  that  when  once  it  had  been  put  wrong  into  his 
head,  he  could  never  get  it  right  again  ;  he  was  in  this 
like  the  triangle  man. 

Mary  ventured  to  ask  why,  if  the  earth  is  quite  round, 
and  the  globe  quite  a  globe,  should  Frank  talk  of  the 
long  way  or  the  short  way  round  it.  "  I  thought  that  a 
globe  measured  the  same  every  way — should  it  not  V 

Frank  informed  her,  and  was  very  glad  to  be  able 
to  do  so,  that  the  earth,  though  it  is  called  a  globe,  is 
not  quite  round ;  that  it  is  more  in  the  shape  of  an  or- 
ange, or  a  turnip. 

A  nod  from  his  friend  confirmed  his  assertion ;  and 
Frank,  now  feeling  encouraged  to  show  his  learning, 
went  on  to  prove  that  he  understood  the  causes  of  day 
and  night ;  and,  farther,  he  dashed  into  explanations  of 
an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  of  summer  and  winter ;  but 
there  he  found  that  he  stuck  fast — he  could  neither  get 
backward  nor  forward,  but,  quite  confused  amid  the 
M  23 


S66  FRANK. 

paths  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  ejrth,  he  was  compelled  to 
acknowledge  that  he  was  not  yet  master  of  their  nM>- 
tions.  Ashamed  of  himself,  he  willingly  hstened  to 
Mary's  observation  that  it  was  getting  very  late  ;  and, 
after  wishing  the  engineer  a  good-nigh^  and  a  good-by, 
for  he  knew  that  he  was  to  go  early  in  the  morning, 
Frank  said, 

"  I  hope  that,  by  the  time  you  come  again,  sir,  I  shall 
be  quite  clear  about  summer  and  winter.  How  long  do 
you  think  it  will  be  before  you  come  again  V 

The  engineer  said  he  did  not  know;  perhaps  in  a 
week,  perhaps  in  a  month. 

"  A  month !"  exclaimed  Frank,  "  I  shall  have  time  and 
time  enough  to  learn  it,  mamma,  shall  not  I  ?" 

"  And  to  forget  it,  perhaps,  Frank,"  said  his  mother. 


FRANK. 

It  is  surprising  how  easy  it  is  to  make  good  resolu- 
tions, and  how  difficult  to  keep  them :  Frank  at  least 
found  it  so.  He  had  resolved,  in  the  first  place,  that  the 
very  day  after  the  engineer  went  away,  he  would  make 
himself  quite  clear  about  the  causes  of  summer  and 
winter ;  and  with  this  intention  he  went  in  search  of  a 
book  in  which  he  had  been  told  that  he  would  find  them 
well  explained ;  but  it  chanced  that,  while  he  was  look- 
ing for  this  in  his  mother's  bookcase  nearest  the  win- 
dow, he  heard  the  cry  of  hounds  and  the  voice  of  the 
huntsmen.  He  called  to  Mary  to  come  quick !  quick ! 
and  he  threw  up  the  sash,  looked  out,  and  saw  dogs 
running,  and  men  and  horses  galloping  after  them — the 
men  in  scarlet  jackets,  and  with  little  velvet  caps  on 
their  heads. 

"There  they  are  ;  do  you  see  them,  Mary?  No,  not 
now,  you  can't,  they  are  behind  the  trees.  But  now ! 
now  you  can  see  the  scarlet  jackets ;  here  they  come 
full  gallop !  Beautiful  horses',  how  they  go!  which  will 
be  first  ?"  cried  Frank. 

"  How  very  pretty  they  look,  going  over  that  rising 
ground,  and  winding  through  the  wood,"  said  Mary. 
"  But  now  they  are  all  out  of  sight." 

"  Stay,  stay,  don't  go  away,  they  are  coming  again, 
Mary:  one  has  leaped  the  great  ditch.  Oh,  come! 
come  and  look  at  them  leaping.  One !  two !  three !  five ! 
One's  down — no,  up  again.  On  they  come  :  all  spread- 
ing over  the  field — dogs  and  horses :  and  they  must  cross 
this  lawn,  quite  close  to  us,  Mary." 

"  What  a  noise !"  said  Mary ;  "  and  how  eager  they 
all  are — men,  horses,  dogs !" 

"  How  I  should  like  to  be  among  them,  if  I  were  a 
man!"  said  Frank.  "  Mary,  look  here  to  this  side, 
passing  under  the  great  sycamore,  do  you  see  a  white 
hound  snuffing  about?  Next  after  him,  that  man  on 
the  bay  horse  is  Squire  Rogers,  1  think.  He  is  fore- 
most :  how  well  he  rides." 

"  But  what  do  I  see!"  said  Mary.  "A  very  little 
M3 


268  PRANK. 

man  at  a  distance,  or  a  boy.  Oh !  is  not  that  Master 
Tom  ?" 

"  Tom !  Tom !  where  V  cried  Frank. 

"  You  cannot  see  him  now :  the  himters  are  between 
him  and  us." 

"  Master  Tom  ?  Oh  no,  my  dear,  impossible !"  said 
Frank ;  "  such  little  boys  never  go  out  hunting." 

Well,  Mary  would  not  be  positive,  she  said,  but  she 
was  almost  sure  she  had  seen  him.  Unluckily,  the 
hounds,  horses,  and  huntsmen  now  took  a  course  in  a 
contrary  direction  to  what  Frank  had  predicted;  they 
did  not  cross  that  lawn  close  to  the  window,  and  wheth- 
er it  was  Master  Tom  or  not  whom  Mary  had  seen, 
could  not  now  be  determined. 

The  doubt  so  disturbed  Frank's  head  that  he  could 
not  settle  to  reading  this  morning ;  hounds,  red  jackets, 
and  jockey  caps  were  running  through  his  head,  and 
drove  from  his  recollection  all  his  great  curiosity  about 
the  causes  of  summer  and  winter,  taking  angles,  sex- 
tants, observations,  Euchd's  Elements,  and  the  engi- 
neer. 

Some  morning  visiters  came  this  day ;  and,  altogeth- 
er, Frank  found  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  set  about 
any  thing,  either  while  they  stayed  or  after  they  went 
away.  While  they  stayed  it  would  not  have  been  civil, 
he  thought,  and  after  they  went  away  it  was  too  late. 
Besides,  Frank  had  been  curious  to  hear  what  was  said 
by  some  of  the  visiters  about  the  hunting  of  this  day, 
and  to  determine  the  point  whether  Master  Tom  had  or 
had  not  been  at  the  hunt.  It  was  at  last  decided  that 
he  had  been  at  it.  Nor  was  this  the  first  time.  Under 
the  protection  of  Squire  Rogers,  and  of  a  greater  per- 
sonage still,  Squire  Rogers's  huntsman,  Master  Tom 
had  frequently  joined  the  hunt,  and  was  much  admired 
by  Squire  Rogers  and  his  hunting  companions,  for  his 
being  able  to  sit  a  hunter  so  well,  and  for  keeping  up 
with  the  hounds.  It  was  extraordinary  to  see  a  boy,  a 
child  of  his  age,  out  hunting  with  men.  One  of  the  lady 
visiters  agreed  with  Squire  Rogers  in  admiring  Master 
Tom.  Another  said  that  it  was  a  pity  and  a  shame  to 
see  a  boy  of  his  age,  and  who  might  be  trained  to  some- 
thing better,  suffered  to  run  wild  as  he  did,  and  to  keep 
such  low,  vulgar  company.  Squire  Rogers,  though  him- 
self a  gentleman,  was,  as  it  has  been  observed,  fond  of 
his  inferiors  in  rank  and  education;  and  his  hunting 


FRANK.  269 

associates  were  not  such  as  any  sensible  parents  could 
wish  for  the  companions  of  their  sons.  Frank's  mother 
joined  with  those  who  disapproved  of  Master  Tom's 
hunting,  but  she  said  and  thought  little  about  the  mat- 
ter: she  did  not  know  how  much  Frank  had  been  struck 
with  the  sight  of  this  day's  chase.  In  the  course  of  the 
day,  however,  the  red  jackets  and  the  galloping  horses 
faded  from  his  imagination.  Mary  reminded  him  of 
summer  and  winter,  and  he  in  a  careless  manner  looked 
over  some  explanation  in  a  geographical  dictionary, 
which,  if  he  did  not  quite  understand,  would  do  for  the 
present;  he  could  look  it  over  again  more  carefully 
some  days  before  the  engineer  should  return,  he  said, 
and  then  it  would  be  fresh  in  his  head.  "  If  I  were  to 
learn  it  perfectly  now,"  added  he,  "  you  know  I  should, 
as  mamma  observed,  have  time  to  forget  it  before  our 
friend  comes  here  again." 

Content  with  being  able  to  quote  his  mother's  words, 
and  to  turn  them  to  his  present  purpose  of  defending  his 
fit  of  idleness,  Frank  did  little  good  this  day.  Even  his 
constant  defender,  Mary,  could  not  deny  this.  The 
next  morning  he  determined  to  make  up  for  lost  yes- 
terday. He  recollected  several  things  which  he  had 
not  thought  of  during  the  days  the  engineer  had  been 
with  them,  and  to  these  his  attention  turned. 

"  The  Stream  of  Time,"  saidhe, "  we  have  never  looked 
at  since  the  day  after  the  day  when  we  resolved  that 
we  would  look  at  it  regularly  every  day  at  mamma's 
dressing  time." 

"Yes,  she  told  us  that  we  should  forget  it,"  said 
Mary. 

"  And  our  lists,  my  dear  Mary,"  cried  Frank :  "  the 
first  thing  we  do  must  be  to  settle  our  list  of  ^must 
wants.''  It  is  terribly  crowded  and  blotted,"  said  he, 
unfolding  and  showing  it. 

"  Especially  that  great  blot  over  trigonometry,"  said 
Mary.  "  I  believe  that  was  my  fault,  for  I  had  not  any 
blotting-paper,  and  I  rolled  up  the  list  before  it  was  dry ; 
and  you  wrote  in  a  great  hurry,  if  you  recollect,  the  first 
day  the  engineer  came,  when  you  were  so  very  fond 
of  him." 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  him  still,"  said  Frank,  "  but  one 
cannot  always  think  of  the  same  thing.     Certainly,  I 

Eut  trigonometry,  my  dear,  too  high  up  that  day  in  this 
St  of '  man^s  must  wants,'  and  1  wrote  it  much  too  large. 
S3* 


m 


S70  PHANK. 


It  must  come  out,  and  come  down  here,  where  there  is 
plenty  of  room  for  it  below." 

"  How  many  changes  we  have  made  in  our  lists  smce 
we  began  them !"  said  Mary. 

In  the  course  of  one  month,  indeed,  such  numbers  of 
words  had  been  inserted  and  removed  from  may  toants 
to  must  wants,  that  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  read  the 
manuscript.  It  was  now  found  necessary  to  rewrite 
the  whole.  They  wisely  determined  that  all  the  doubtful 
things  should  be  written  with  pencil,  so  that  they  might 
be  rubbed  out  and  altered  as  often  as  might  be  wished. 
Frank  disliked  the  trouble  of  transcribing,  but  he  pa- 
tiently went  through  it,  and  the  copy  was,  as  his  mother 
judged,  much  better  than  the  first  list. 

Mary  undertook  to  finish  the  last  pencilled  column  of 
may  wants  for  him  this  morning,  when  he  went  out  to 
ride  with  his  father. 

This  was  very  obliging  of  Mary,  because  she  wished, 
as  Frank  knew,  to  have  employed  this  morning  in  knit- 
ting for  Colonel  Birch  a  pair  of  scarlet  worsted  cuffs 
or  bracelets ;  by  some  called  wristlets,  by  others  comfort- 
ables, by  others  muffatees,  by  others  kitti/  cuffs. 

Now  Mary  was  a  quick  knitter  for  her  age,  but  a  slow 
writer,  and  it  requires  no  small  share  of  resolution,  as 
well  as  good-nature,  to  quit  what  we  hope  we  can  do 
pretty  well  for  what  we  fear  we  do  but  ill.  Poor  Mary 
was  the  whole  morning  copying  this  immense  folio  page, 
excepting  one  quarter  of  an  hour  which  she  took  to  rest 
her  cramped  fingers,  and  which  she  spent  in  continuing 
the  basket-work  fence  round  Robinson  Crusoe's  island. 
She  had  finished  the  last  word,  "  order,"  with  her  best 
r,  and  moreover  with  the  kind  of  r  which  Frank  prefer- 
red to  her  own  favourite  r,  when  she  heard  the  horses 
returning.  She  ran  down  into  the  hall  to  meet  Frank 
with  the  long  sheet  jn  her  hand. 

"  Here  it  is,  Frank !  I  have  finished  it  quite !  Take 
care  !  order  is  not  quite  dry  yet,"  cried  she. 

But  he  was  not  in  the  delightful  hurry  to  see  it  that 
she  expected. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear !  Thank  you !"  he  said. 

But  it  was  plain  that  he  was  not  thinking  of  what 
he  was  saying ;  and  who  can  value  such  thanks  1  He 
scarcely  seemed  to  know  what  paper  she  held  in  her 
hand ;  and  who  could  bear  this  ?  None  but  those  who 
have  as  sweet  a  temper  as  Mary  had.  ^.'^^s-- 


FRANK.  271 

Mary  was  disappointed  and  mortified,  but  she  bore  it 
•well,  and  putting  aside  the  paper  which  contained  her 
morning's  work,  she  listened  kindly  to  Frank,  who  be- 
gan to  tell  her  his  adventures.  She  now  observed  that 
he  appeared  much  agitated. 

"  Look,  Mary,  my  dear,"  cried  he,  as  he  took  off  his 
hat,  and  skimmed  it  from  him  upon  the  table  in  the  hall. 
*'  Look  what  a  hat  is  there !  and  it  is  well  my  head  was 
not  battered  Hke  my  hat !" 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  said  Mary,  who  now  looked 
in  his  face,  and  saw  that  he  was  excessively  hot.  "  Do 
tell  me  quickly." 

"  My  dear,  I  have  been  out  hunting — that's  all." 

"  Hunting !  Frank  !  no  surely !  not  real  hunting." 

"  Yes,  real  hunting ;  and  I  have  taken  three  leaps, 
wonderful  leaps ;  and  I  have  had  a  fall  that  might  have 
killed  me :  but  do  not  look  so  frightened,  you  see  I  am 
not  dead.     I  have  only  hurt  my  arm." 

"  Where  1  which  arm  V  said  Mary. 

"  My  left  arm,"  said  he,  "just  here." 

Mary  looked,  and  saw  blood  upon  the  coat.  She 
started,  and  said  she  would  run  and  tell  his  mother, 
that  something  might  be  done  to  his  arm  directly ;  but 
Frank  caught  her  hand  and  held  her  fast,  saying  that 
she  must  not  frighten  his  mother ;  that  his  father  had 
gone  to  tell  her  all  that  had  happened. 

"  Does  it  hurt  you  to  talk  ?"  said  Mary. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Frank.  "  Only  do  not  look 
so  frightened,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  every  thing.  We 
were  just  riding  home  quietly,  and  I  was  talking  to  papa 
very  happily,  about  making  bows  and  arrows,  when,  at 
the  turn  of  the  cross-road,  hounds  and  horn  were  heard, 
and  huntsmen  coming  full  gallop.  My  father  called  to 
me  to  pull  in  Felix,  and  I  did  so ;  and  though  I  knew 
he  had  a  great  mind  to  follow  the  hunt,  he  stood  as  quiet 
as  a  lamb,  till  somebody  came  up  slashing  a  whip.  Yes, 
Master  Tom.  Whether  he  touched  ray  horse  or  not  I 
cannot  tell,  but  off  went  Felix.  I  heard  my  father  cal« 
ling  to  me,  but  I  could  not  hold  Felix  in :  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  tried  with  all  my  strength,  for  I  had  a  great  mind 
to  see  the  hunt,  I  own.  So  on  I  went,  galloping  fast, 
fast,  fast !  you  can  have  no  idea  how  fast,  Mary :  you 
would  have  shut  your  eyes,  I  know,  and  you  would  never 
have  seen  the  great  leap  over  the  ditch  in  Yougham 
jnanor !  Such  a  leap !  and  I  sat  it ;  and  tolerably  sur» 


273  FRANK. 

prised  I  was  when  I  found  myself  safe  on  Felix's  back 
on  the  other  side.  Bravo  !  bravo !  I  heard  as  one  passed 
me,  and  another  passed  me,  and  I  did  not  know  who 
they  were.  Oh !  how  this  arm  hurts  me !  Well,  as  I 
was  saying,  on  I  went  galloping  along  with  the  men, 
tally  ho !  tally  ho !  after  the  hounds  in  full  cry ;  over 
another  ditch  clean  went  I  (Felix  for  ever!)  and  got 
before  Tom ;  till  at  last,  oh,  Mary  !  forcing  through  a 
gap  in  the  hedge,  I  fancy  my  coat  caught  on  a  bush,  or 
how  it  happened  I  do  not  well  know,  but  plump  !  squash 
I  found  myself  at  the  bottom  of  a  ditch.  AH  rushes, 
luckily,  at  the  bottom,  except,  unluckily,  one  stump  of 
a  bush,  which  ran  into  this  arm  ;  but  what  is  the  most 
extraordinary  part  of  the  story — " 

What  this  was  can  never  be  known ;  for  here  Frank 
was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  his  father  and  moth- 
er, and  the  good  housekeeper,  with  lint  and  linen  band- 
ages. When  Frank's  coat  was  taken  off,  and  his  arm 
examined,  a  cut,  or,  as  Mary  chose  to  have  it  called,  a 
wound,  appeared  in  the  fleshy  part  of  the  arm.  It  had 
bled  a  great  deal,  and  Mary  seemed  to  feel  much  for  this 
bleeding,  though,  as  Frank  laughing  assured  her,  it  did 
not  hurt  him  in  the  least.  He  could  not  say  as  much 
when  they  came  to  dressing  his  wound ;  touching  the 
raw  part  to  draw  it  together  was  painful ;  but  Frank 
held  his  arm  out  steadily,  never  twitching  or  wincing; 
INIary  was  glad  when  good  old  Mrs.  Catharine  fastened 
off  her  thread,  after  sewing  the  bandage  ;  but  when  she 
said  that  the  arm  would  be  as  well  as  ever  in  two  or 
three  days,  Mary  thought  this  was  treating  the  affair  too 
shghtly.  But  Mrs.  Catharine  was  not,  as  she  said, 
"  one  of  those  who  pity  boys  for  every  slight  hurt ;  she 
knew  that  a  brave  boy  must  not  mind  such  things." 

"  Mind  it !  No,  that  I  do  not,  as  you  see,  I  hope,"  said 
Frank,  swinging  his  coat  over  his  shoulders,  and  getting 
his  arm  into  it  without  anybody's  help. 

"  But  stay,  Catharine,  my  dear  Catharine,  I  must 
show  you  my  leg ;  I  believe  I  have  a  leg  full  of  thorns. 
These  trousers  are  not  fit  for  hunting  in,  like  men's 
boots.  The  thorns  went  through  them  into  my  leg  Uke 
pins  into  a  pincushion." 

Mrs.  Catharine,  though  much  inclined  to  take  the  part 
of  the  trousers,  refrained,  and  smiled  at  the  simile  of 
the  pins  and  the  pincushion.  The  bare  leg  was  pro- 
duced: many  little  black  specks  appeared,  and  Mrs. 


PRANK.  273 

Catharine  went  to  work  on  these  with  her  needle,  first 
picking  at  one,  then  at  another.  Six  thorns  were  ex- 
tracted !  and  of  these  two  were  such  little  black  specks 
that  they  could  scarcely  be  seen  on  the  point  of  the 
needle,  till  laid  upon  his  mother's  white  handkerchief. 
Yet  poking  and  probing  for  these,  which  had  gone  far 
into  the  calf,  gave  Frank  more  pain,  at  least  more  teas- 
ing pain,  than  the  dressing  of  the  great  wound,  as  Mary 
called  it.  It  was  the  more  difficult  to  bear,  too,  because 
there  was  not  only  more  pain,  but  less  glory,  and  less 
pity.  Mary  did  not  pity  him  half  as  much  while  he  was 
undergoing  the  extraction  of  the  thorns,  as  she  had 
done  at  the  sight  of  the  flowing  of  the  blood,  which  did 
not  hurt  him  in  the  least.  But  Frank's  mother  knew, 
by  the  tight  squeezing  together  of  his  lips,  and  by  the 
pale  streak  under  his  eyes,  how  difficult  he  found  it  to 
stand  this  seemingly  trifling  trial.  He  went  through  it, 
however,  as  a  man  should :  and  the  experienced  Mrs. 
Catharine  gave  him  honour  due,  declaring,  as  she  held 
the  sixth  thorn  upon  the  point  of  the  needle,  that  she 
had  never  seen  a  little  man  stand  steadier,  and  would 
never  desire  to  dress  the  wounds  of  a  better  soldier ; 
and  that  she  did  not  doubt  but  that  he  who  could  stand 
so  well  the  probing  for  so  many  thorns,  would  be  able 
to  bear  as  well,  when  necessary,  the  probing  for  a  bullet. 

"  If  necsesary,"  said  his  mother,  laying  a  marked  em- 
phasis upon  the  if. 

"  We  do  not  want  to  make  a  soldier  of  Frank,"  said 
his  father,  "  but  to  make  him  a  brave  man,  and  then  he 
will  be  whatever  his  duty  requires." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Frank.  "  And,  papa,  will  you  be- 
speak a  pair  of  boots  for  me  ;  for  really  these  thin  trou- 
sers are  not  fit  for  a  man  to  ride  in,  that  is,  to  hunt  in." 

His  father  made  no  reply,  and  Frank  was  not  certain 
that  his  petition  was  heard. 

After  dinner,  when  he  had  refreshed  and  rested  him- 
self, and  when  he  had  recounted,  for  the  second  time, 
all  his  exploits  of  the  morning,  he  recollected  the  page 
which  Mary  had  copied  for  him,  and  asking  to  look  at 
it,  she  had  then  the  reward  of  her  patience  in  his  kind- 
est thanks.  Lying  on  the  carpet,  he  began  to  read  the 
list  of  man's  virtues  to  her ;  but  he  had  not  proceeded 
far  in  them  before  the  fair  columns  were  defaced  by 
changes  which  he  made,  perhaps  a  little  hastily.  For 
instance,  as  soon  as  he  came  to  courage,  he  looked  down 

M3 


274  FRANK. 

the  page  in  search  of  riding,  which  used  to  come  some' 
time  after  Latin  grammar,  but  he  now  crammed  it  in  im- 
mediately after  courage ;  and  when  he  came  to  good- 
sense  and  good-nature  they  changed  places ;  good-na- 
ture was  raised  much  higher,  up  in  the  list  than  it  had 
been  formerly.  Frank  gave  no  reasons  for  this  change ; 
but  he  talked  a  good  deal  about  Squire  Rogers.  Squire 
Rogers  had  helped  to  lift  him  out  of  the  ditch ;  and  had 
declared  to  Frank's  father,  even  with  an  oath,  that  he 
would  give  more  than  he  could  count  to  have  such  a 
brave  little  fellow  for  a  son. 

Frank  did  not  repeat  this  speech  to  Mary,  or  to  his 
mother ;  but  his  father  knew  that  he  had  heard  it,  and 
that  it  was,  perhaps  unconsciously  to  Frank,  the  cause  of 
his  sudden  change  of  opinion  of  this  gentleman.  Frank 
told  Mary  that  though  poor  Squire  Rogers  was  very  ig- 
norant of  some  things,  yet  in  others  that  he  was  no  fool, 
and  that  he  was  certainly  remarkably  good-natured. 

Frank  was  very  unwilling  to  go  to  bed  that  night, 
though  he  was  exceedingly  tired;  but  he  continued, 
with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  talking,  talking,  talking, 
about  men,  horses,  and  dogs,  till  even  Mary's  eyes  clo- 
sed, notwithstanding  her  most  complaisant  endeavours 
to  keep  them  open. 

"  Why  do  not  you  go  to  bed,  Frank,  you  are  tired  ?" 
said  his  mother. 

"  Tired !  not  in  the  least,  ma'am.  Why  should  you 
think  that  I  am  tired  V 

"  Because  you  have  taken  more  exercise  than  usual 
to-day.     There  is  no  disgrace  in  being  tired,  my  dear." 

"  But  I  really  am  not  tired,  mamma,"  said  Frank. 

"  And  he  is  proud  of  that,"  said  his  father,  smiling : 
•'very  natural  for  a  boy  who  wishes  to  be  thought 
manly." 

"  Oh  papa !  to  be  thought  manly !"  repeated  Frank, 
*'  say,  to  be  manly." 

"  Well,  Frank,  I  will  say  to  be  manly." 

"  Papa,  would  you  be  so  very  good  as  to  bespeak  for 
me  a  pair  of  boots  1" 

"  I  would,"  said  his  father,  laughing,  "  if  you  could 
prove  that  they  were  necessary  to  your  being  manly." 

"  But  seriously,  father,"  said  Frank,  "  they  will  be  ne- 
cessary to  prevent  the  thorns  from  running  into  my  legs 
again  the  next  time  1  go  out  hunting." 

♦'  The  next  time  you  go  out  hunting  !"  said  his  moth- 
er, in  a  tone  of  surprise. 


FRANK.  275 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  for  Squire  Rogers,  Mr.  Rogers  I  mean, 
told  me  there  would  be  a  hunt  on  Tuesday,  and  asked 
me  to  go  with  him  ;  and  1  said  I  would,  if  you  would 
give  me  leave,  papa,  and  I  hope  you  will." 

Frank's  mother  sighed. 

"  Mamma,  do  not  sigh,"  said  Frank.  "  I  shall  not  break 
my  neck,  though  I  know  you  are  afraid  that  I  shall." 

"  Mamma,  do  not  sigh,"  said  Frank's  father.  "  I  will 
answer  for  it  that  Frank  will  not  grow  fond  of  vulgar 
flattery,  or  of  vulgar  company,  though  I  know  that  you 
are  afraid  that  he  will." 

Frank,  at  the  half-open  door,  stood  to  hear  his  moth- 
er's answer,  but  she  looked  down  at  her  work,  and  was 
silent. 

"  My  love,"  continued  his  father,  "  we  must  not  ex- 
pect too  much  from  him.  We  must  not  expect — but 
1  will  finish  my  sentence,  and  answer  you,  Frank,  about 
the  boots  to-morrow  morning  at  breakfast.  Go  to  bed 
now  ;  after  a  night's  sleep  you  will  be  more  in  a  condi- 
tion to  hear  reason." 

" To  hear  what,  father?" 

"  Reason,  son." 

"  Is  that  all  1  I  thought  it  was  something  about 
riding,  papa,"  said  Frank,  still  lingering,  and  swinging 
the  door  in  his  hand. 

"  Go  to  bed  now,  Frank,  as  you  are  desired,"  said  his 
father.  "  Obedience  is  a  manly  virtue — it  is  at  least  a 
virtue  necessary  to  a  man." 

Frank  obeyed,  and  in  his  turn  sighed. 


Frank  was  at  the  breakfast-table  before  any  one  else 
the  next  morning. 

Many  subjects  were  spoken  of,  and  many  affairs  were 
to  be  settled,  before  the  business  of  the  boots  and  of 
the  hunt.  All  the  affairs  of  England  and  of  Europe  ap- 
peared to  be  discussed  in  the  newspapers  of  the  day. 
At  last  his  father  put  down  the  paper,  and  his  eye  turned 
upon  Frank.  ,.■,  i  i^  ,.  -ni.i,^,  /  ^j.  . 

"  Now,  my  boy — "        :    jr..  -^  r   ',.,(,  ('•,... 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "  may  I  say  one  thing  before  I 
hear  the  end  of  your  sentence  1  When  I  wakened  this 
morning,  I  began  to  think  about  what  we  were  talking 
of  last  night,  and  I  believe  I  shall  not  want  man's  boots, 


S76  PRANK. 

because,  though  Mr.  Rogers  asked  me  to  go  with  hJni, 
it  is  better,  I  think,  that  I  should  not  go  out  hunting." 
His  mother  looked  very  much  pleased. 

"  Your  father  was  quite  right,  I  see,  Frank,"  said  she, 
"  when  he  prophesied  that  you  would  have  more  sense 
after  a  night's  sleep." 

"  More  sense  than  what,  mamma  1" 

"  More  sense  than  you  had  last  night,  my  dear  Frank, 
when  you  wished  to  go  out  hunting  again  with  Mr. 
Rogers  and  his  rabble  rout." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  be 
pleased  with  me,  but  I  must  tell  you  the  truth.  I  have 
not  more  sense  this  morning  than  I  had  last  night,  if  it 
is  foolish  to  wish  to  go  out  hunting  again,  for  I  own  I 
do  wish  it." 

"  You  are  right  to  tell  the  truth  at  all  events,  Frank ; 
and  for  that  I  must  be  pleased  with  you.  And  we  have 
reason,"  said  his  mother,  "  to  be  still  more  pleased  with 
you  for  conquering  a  foolish  wish  by  your  own  reflec- 
tions and  good  sense — more  pleased  even  than  if  you 
had  not  the  wish." 

"  But,  mamma,  it  was  not  my  good  sense  that  con- 
quered." ^f   • 

"  What  then !"  said  his  mother.  ■ 

Frank  hesitated. 

"  What  1"  said  his  father.  "  Perhaps  you  foresaw 
that  I  should  refuse  to  let  you  go,  and  you  did  not  like 
to  have  the  mortification  of  being  refused,  and  therefore 
you  thought  it  was  better  to  give  it  up  of  your  own 
accord.  Was  that  the  case,  Frank?  Speak  out,  my 
boy,  speak  out;  a  brave  man,  a  brave  boy,  is  never 
afraid  to  speak  his  mind,  whether  he  thinks  it  will  please 
or  displease.  If  he  is  wrong,  he  knows  he  can  be  set 
right;  if  he  is  foolish,  he  knows  he  can  learn  to  be 
wiser ;  but  he  is  never  afraid  to  tell  his  mind." 

*'  Papa,  I  am  not  afraid  to  tell  my  mnid.  I  did  not 
think  that  you,  papa,  would  refuse  to  let  me  go ;  but  I 
thought  that  mamma  would  not  like  it,  and  therefipre  I 
resolved  to  give  it  up." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  Frank,"  said  his  mother.  "  I 
am  persuaded  that  you  would  give  up  this  and  greater 
pleasure  for  me,  if  I  were  to  ask  you  to  do  so  ;  but  I  do 
not  wish,"  continued  she,  turning  to  his  father,  "  to 
work  upon  his  feehngs  ;  I  would  rather  that  his  imder- 
standing  were  convinced." 


PRANK.  277 

•'  So  would  I,  my  dear,"  answered  his  father :  •'  but  I 
am  not  clear  that  on  this  point  we  can  convince  his 
understanding.  It  is  scarcely  possible  that  a  boy  of  his 
age,  who  has  had  no  experience,  can  comprehend  all 
the  dangers  of  early  keeping  vulgar,  ignorant  com- 
pany." 

"  But,  papa,  I  would  not  keep  company  with  them, 
but  only  go  out  hunting  with  them,  you  know ;  when  I 
am  on  horseback,  cantering,  galloping,  leaping,  what 
harm  can  that  do  me  ]  it  can  only  teach  me  to  ride 
better  and  better,  and  make  me  more  brave  and  manly." 

"  And  more  and  more  fond  of  vulgar  applause,"  said 
his  mother  :  "  of  the  applause  of  all  those  who  call  out, 
'Bravo,  Master  Frank!  bravo!'  as  you  leap  over  the 
ditches.  Recollect  your  own  feelings:  were  not  you 
urged  on  by  this  praise  yesterday  ^  And  did  not  you 
feel  that  competition  with  Master  Tom,  and  emulation, 
excited  you  to  exertion  1" 

"  Certainly,  mamma ;  and  so  I  felt  when  papa  praised 
me  for  riding  well  or  being  brave.  If  it  is  a  good  thing 
to  ride  well  and  to  be  brave,  those  people,  whether  they 
are  vulgar  or  not,  are  right  to  praise  me  for  it,  are  not 
they  ?  And  I  am  not  wrong  to  like  their  praise  about 
riding,  because  they  can  judge  about  that  as  well  as 
papa." 

"  True,"  said  his  father ;  "  but  if  you  like  their  praise 
about  your  riding,  you  would  probably  become  desirous 
of  it  on  other  subjects,  and  you  would  soon  be  satisfied 
with  their  admiration,  without  exerting  yourself  to  ob- 
tain the  esteem  of  those  who  are  better  judges  of  ex- 
cellence of  different  kinds.  Besides,  the  being  praised 
by  ignorant  people,  even  for  what  you  deserve,  and  for 
that  of  which  they  can  judge,  would  early  join  in  your 
mind  the  idea  of  pleasure  with  that  of  vulgar  applause, 
and  even  the  association  of  your  first  pleasure  in  riding 
would  be  hurtful  to  you." 

"  The  first  pleasure  of  the  first  days  of  riding  I  shall 
always  remember,"  said  Frank :  "  they  were  with  my 
father.  Indeed,  mamma,  I  really  like  the  rides  with  my 
father  much  the  best ;  I  like  so  much  to  talk  to  him,  and 
to  hear  what  he  says.  But,  I  do  not  know  how  it  was, 
I  was  carried  away  by  the  pleasure  of  the  hunt ;  and  I 
own  I  should  like  to  hunt  again.  I  do  not  quite  under- 
stand all  your  reasons  against  it ;  for  I  feel  sure  that  I 
should  not  learn  to  like  vulgar  company.  Will  you  let 
24 


278  FRANK. 

me  try  once  or  twice,  mamma  1  only  once,  on  Tuesday, 
papa  r' 

"  No,  Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  you  must  now  be 
governed  by  my  understanding  and  my  experience." 

Frank  looked  mortified  and  disappointed  ;  but  after  a 
minute's  thought  he  said,  "  Very  well,  papa ;  I  believe 
you  and  mamma  know  best  what  is  good  for  me  ;  I  have 
always  found  it  so  at  last,  even  when  I  did  not  think  so 
at  first." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mary  ;  "  as  we  found  about  the 
separation  punishment,  when  we  quarrelled." 

"  Come,  then,  Mary,"  said  Frank ;  "  we  will  think  of 
something  else,  and  put  boots  and  hunting  out  of  my 
head.  I  will  go  out  and  look  at  the  work  you  did  yester- 
day at  the  island." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mary,  "  the  very  thing  I  wished. 
I  have  almost  finished  Robinson  Crusoe's  fence.' 

"  And  I  will  quite  finish  it  with  you  to-day:  I  can 
work  with  my  right  arm  ;  luckily,  it  was  only  my  left 
that  was  hurt.  And  when  I  am  tired  of  working,  I 
have  to  think  of  Mrs.  Wheeler's  arbour." 

It  is  a  happy  thing  to  have  something  to  do,  and  some- 
thing to  think  of,  when  one  has  met  with  a  little  disap- 
pointment. 

In  about  two  hours  Mary  and  Frank  returned,  both 
looking  very  hot  and  very  happy,  Frank  having  quite 
worked  off  his  disappointment. 

"  Papa,  I  am  glad  that  you  are  not  gone  out,"  said  he 
to  his  father,  who  was  writing  a  letter ;  "  I  ran  home  as 
hard  as  I  could  to  tell  you  that  I  saw  Squire  Rogers,  on 
his  horse  Stamper,  coming  down  the  lane,  and  perhaps 
he  may  call  here  as  he  goes  by ;  and  if  he  does,  will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  him  that  I  cannot  go  with  him 
on  Tuesday  to  the  hunt  ]" 

"  Why  cannot  you  tell  him  so  yourself,  Frank !"  said 
his  father. 

"  I  could,  to  be  sure,"  said  Frank ;  "  but  I  would 
rather  that  you  should  speak  for  me,  because — because 
— because — I  do  not  know  exactly  why,  but  I  should 
feel  ashamed." 

"  Ashamed  of  what,  Frank  1  Ashamed  of  doing  what 
your  father  desires  V 

•'  No,  no,  papa,  certainly  not ;  there  is  really  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of  in  that :  but  it  seems  as  if  I  were  not 
a  man," 


PRANK.  279 

"  And  are  you  a  man  V  said  his  father. 

"  No,  papa,"  said  Frank,  laughing,  "  I  know  that  I 
am  a  little  boy ;  yet  still,  I  do  not  know  why,  I  feel 
ashamed."  ^ 

"  Never  be  ashamed  without  reason ;  conquer  that 
foolish  feeling,"  said  his  father. 

"  And  besides,"  said  Frank,  moving  from  leg  to  leg, 
"  too,  besides — " 

"  Besides  will  do,  without  ^oo,"  said  his  father. 

"  Besides,  papa,  when  one  is  asked  to  do  any  thing,  and 
asked  in  a  good-natured  manner,  it  is  difficult  to  refuse 
sometimes." 

"  It  is  difficult  sometimes ;  but  it  is  often  necessary, 
my  dear  son,  and  you  must  learn  to  do  it." 

"Oh,  father,  here  is  Squire  Rogers  coming  up  the 
avenue :  I  dare  say  that  he  has  come  on  purpose  to  see 
how  I  do :  how  very  good-natured !  And  if  he  asks  me 
again  to  go  to  the  hunt,  how  shall  I  have  the  courage  to 
say  no !   I  wish  you  would  say  it  for  me  this  time,  papa." 

"  No,  Frank,"  said  his  father :  "  you  see  that  I  can 
say  '  no'  to  you,  and  yet  I  do  not  like  to  refuse  any  thing 
you  ask ;  but  it  is  necessary  for  a  man  to  learn  to  say 
'  no,'  and  the  sooner  you  begin  the  better,  even  about 
such  a  trifle  as  this  :  you  cannot  have  a  better  oppor- 
tunity." 

"Who  is  that  with  him,  Mary  V  said  Frank.  "Can 
you  see  between  the  trees  V 

"  Master  Tom :  I  know  him  by  the  slashing  of  his 
whip." 

"Worse  and  worse,"  said  Frank  to  Mary.  "I  am 
very  sorry  he  is  come,  that  wiU  make  it  more  difficult 
to  me." 

"  No,  surely,"  said  Mary,  "  it  will  not  be  difficult  to 
refuse  him  :  he  is  not  so  very  good-natured !" 

"  I  do  not  say  he  is,"  said  Frank,  "  but  still — ^" 

"  Nor  is  he  very  agreeable,"  said  Mary ;  "  you  do  not 
like  to  ride  with  him  as  well  as  with  papa.  I  remember 
you  told  me  how  much  happier  you  were  riding  with 
papa,  and  talking  to  him,  than  Tom  could  be  with  his 
groom.     Do  not  you  recollect  saying  that  to  me  V 

"  Yes,  I  recollect  it ;  and  it  is  very  true,"  said  Frank. 
*'  I  do  not  like  him  much." 

"  And  I  do  not  think  he  likes  you  much,  Frank,"  said 
Mary. 
"  I  do  not  think  that  he  does,  Mary ;  for  when  I  was 


SS80  FRANK. 

lying  in  the  ditch  I  saw  him  leap  his  horse  over,  with- 
out his  ever  stopping  to  see  whether  I  was  dead  or  alive. 
But  still—" 
^-    *'  But  still  what!"  said  Mary.  "  I  do  not  understand." 

"  You  will  understand  some  time  or  other,  when  you 
are  older,"  said  Frank.  "  Even  when  one  does  not  like 
a  person,  and  even  if  one  does  not  wish  to  do  what  one 
is  asked  to  do,  if  one  is  asked  over  and  over,  it  is  difficult 
to  refuse.     My  dear!  they  are  just  at  the  door." 

"  He  saw  you,  Frank :  he  beckoned  to  you,  Frank." 

"  Did  he  beckon  to  me  ?  Then  it  is  for  me  he  is  com- 
ing. I  had  better  go  out  and  speak  to  him  at  once," 
said  Frank,  looking  as  if  he  summoned  up  all  his 
courage. 

Squire  Rogers  exclaimed,  with  delight,  the  moment 
Frank  appeared  at  the  hall  door — 

"  My  fine  fellow !  my  brave  little  man !  my  bold  little 
huntsman,  how  are  you  to-day  1  Oh,  I  see,  bravely ! 
bravely  !  glad  of  it,  faith !  How  is  the  arm  !  and  how 
are  the  legs !  Right !  right !  I  knew  you'd  be  very 
well,  and  that  you'd  think  nothing  of  such  a  fall  as  that, 
man !  And  the  horse  '.  how  is  he,  Blacky,  or  Felix,  or 
what  do  you  call  him,  a  fine  creature,  too !  his  knees 
not  hurt  ?  And  your  father,  too,  how  is  he  ?  Ay,  he 
knows  how  to  bring  up  a  boy ;  he  has  taught  you  to  sit 
a  horse  wonderfully,  in  the  time ;  and  when  we  have 
had  you  with  us  out  after  the  hounds  for  a  season,  you'll 
be  as  good  a  hunter  as  ray  friend  Tom  here.  Shake 
hands,  my  brave  man,  and  remember  Tuesday  morning 
at  ten  o'clock !     I'll  call  for  you." 

The  squire  bent  low  to  shake  hands  with  Frank,  who, 
in  the  midst  of  these  praises  of  himself,  his  horse,  and 
his  father,  had  not  yet  been  able  to  speak.  Afraid  that 
the  squire  should  gallop  off  before  he  had  pronounced 
the  necessary  "  no,"  Frank  held  fast  the  hand  which 
shook  his. 

"  Not  a  minute  to  spare — can't  'light.  My  compli- 
ments, and  so  forth,  to  your  father.  Can't  'light,  don't 
ask  me,"  said  the  squire,  drawing  away  his  hand. 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  alight,  sir,"  said  Frank,  '♦  but  I 
have  something  I  want  to  say  very  much." 

"  That's  another  affair ;  what  is  it,  my  dear  little  fel- 
low," said  the  squire,  bending  down  again  to  him :  "  ask 
any  thing  from  me  that  I  can  lend  or  give  but  my  horse, 
my  dog,  or  my  gun,  and  you  shall  have  it,  for  you're  a 


FRANK.      '  281 

fine,  spirited  little  man ;  and,  by  all  that's  good !  I  love 
you  as  if  you  were  my  own ;  so  speak  freely." 

"  You  are  very  good,  exceedingly  kind ;  I  am  very 
much  obliged." 

"  Never  mind  your  thanks,  I'm  a  man  will  do  any  thing 
for  those  I  love.  What  is  it  ?  to  lend  you  a  horse,  hey  ? 
You  shall  have  Tantivy,  and  you'll  be  the  best  mounted 
man  or  boy  next  to  the  squire  himself,  arid  so  you  de- 
serve to  be !  and,"  added  he,  "  a  word  in  your  ear — 
Tom's  a  little  jealous  of  you  ;  but  never  mind,  you  shall 
have  Tantivy." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  sir,  you  are  very,  very  good,"  said 
Frank,  "  thank  you,  but — " 

"  Not  a  word  of  thanks,  my  dear  boy  I"  said  the  squire, 
gathering  up  his  bridle,  "  not  a  word  more." 

"  One  word  more  I  must  say,"  cried  Frank,  catching 
hold  of  the  bridle. 

"  Have  a  care,  or  the  horse  will  kill  you,"  cried  the 
squire,  drawing  his  horse  back  with  a  look  of  terror : 
"  Stamper  will  have  his  forepaw  in  your  stomach,  and 
knock  you  down,  dead  as  King  Harry  the  Eighth.  Ods 
my  life!  ycu  frightened  me,  man,  and  I'm  not  easily 
frightened  a-horseback :  but,  Frank,  you're  like  a  boy  I 
lost,  that  was  worth  his  weight  in  gold,"  said  the  squire, 
taking  off  his  hat,  and  wiping  his  forehead. 

"  The  horses  is  hot,"  said  Tom.  "  Jack  says  Stamper 
will  take  cold  standing." 

"  No  matter,  I  must  have  this  little  fellow's  one  word. 
But  stand  out  of  the  horse's  way,  Frank,  do,  my  darling. 
Get  up  on  the  steps,  and  I'll  come  to  you." 

Frank  retreated  to  the  steps,  and  as  he  stood  on  one 
of  them,  the  squire,  riding  close  up,  again  bent  down, 
and,  leaning  his  ear  to  Frank, 

*'  What's  the  matter,"  said  he,  "  for  your  little  heart 
is  full." 

Frank,  putting  his  arm  round  the  squire's  neck,  whis- 
pered, "  Good-natured  man,  I  cannot  go  with  you." 

"  Not  go  with  me  !  What  do  you  mean — ^not  go  with 
me  on  Tuesday  ]" 

"  No,  I  must  say  '  no :'  that  is  the  one  word  I  had  to 
say." 

"  I  thought  how  it  would  end,"  said  Tom,  with  a  sneer ; 
"  1  could  have  sworn  he  would  not  go.  1  wonder,  squire, 
you  are  so  surprised." 

"  And  why  do  not  you  go,"  said  the  squire,  looking 
24* 


582  PRANK. 

hard  in  Frank's  face;  art  afraid?— not  the  lad  I  took 
you  for." 

"  I  am  the  lad  you  took  me  for,"  said  Frank ;  "  1  am 
not  afraid." 

Tom  sneered  again. 

'•  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Frank,  raising  his  voice  as  he 
looked  at  Topi. 

"  Never  mind  him,  mind  me,"  said  the  squire.  "  What 
is  the  reason  you  cannot  come  to  the  hunt — you  said 
yesterday  that  you  would  V 

"  I  said  I  would  if  my  father  approved  of  it,"  said 
Frank ;  "  but  he  does  not ;  that  is  the  reason  that  I  can- 
not go." 

"  Then  he  is  not  the  man  I  took  him  for,"  said  the 
squire.  "  Yet  he  seemed  glad  enough  to  see  you  show 
spirit  the  other  day.  I  see  how  it  is ;  mamma  is  at  the 
bottom  of  the  business — mammas  are  always  cow<irds 
and  spoil-sports." 

"  My  mother  is  not  a  coward,"  said  Frank,  "  and  I  do 
not  know  what  you  mean  by  a  spoil-sport." 

Tom  laughed  in  an  insulting  manner ;  but  the  squire 
said  that  Frank  was  right  enough  to  stand. up  for  his 
own  mother.  "I've  a  great  respect  for  your  mamma, 
my  dear,"  said  he,  holding  out  his  hand  to  him. 

Frank  now  gave  him  his  hand  again  very  readily. 

"  I  am  confident  she's  a  woman  of  sense ;  not  like  my 
wife,  who  is  as  pale  as  a  ghost  if  Stamper  does  but  paw. 
Fear  is  natural  to  all  females.  But  since  you  have  got 
your  father  on  your  side,  he  will  bring  your  mamma 
over  in  time,  I  hope,  before  Tuesday." 

Frank  answered  that  his  father  and  mother  were  both 
on  the  same  side. 

"  That's  bad,"  said  the  squire,  "  a  bad  hearing  for 
you ;  but  cannot  you  run  in  and  tell  her  that  she  may 
safely  trust  you  with  me  1  Say  I'll  take  as  good  care  of 
you  as  of  the  apple  of  my  eye." 

"  What  a  vulgar  expression !"  thought  Frank. 

"  How  he  stands,"  cried  Tom  ;  "  cannot  you  go  in 
and  coax  her  1  I  can  make  my  mother  do  any  thing  by 
a  little  coaxing,  and  cannot  you  V 

*'  No,"  said  Frank,  This  time  "  no"  was  very  clearly 
pronounced. 

"  But  cannot  you  try  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Frank. 
'<-   *'  No !  then  I  must  try  for  you,"  said  the  squire : 


FRANK.  283 

**  sooner  than  that  you  should  lose  your  day's  hunt,  I  de- 
clare I'll  'light,  and  step  in  and  reason  it  out  with  her  my- 
self; though  reasoning  with  the  women  is  not  my  prac- 
tice ;  because  there's  few  of  them  understands  reason 
when  they  hear  it.  But  there's  no  rule  without  an  ex- 
ception ;  Jack,  hold  Stamper  while  I  go  in,"  said  he, 
preparing  to  alight. 

Frank  eagerly  begged  that  the  squire  would  not  give 
himself  the  trouble ;  for  "  I  cannot  go.  Indeed  I  cannot 
go,"  repeated  he. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  come  to  the  hunt,  or  do  you  not  ?" 
said  the  squire,  angrily.     "  I  hate  shilly-shallying ;  do 
you  wish  to  come  with  me  or  not  ■?     Yes  or  no." 
•    "  No,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Frank,  stoutly. 

Tom  touched  the  squire's  shoulder  with  the  handle  of 
his  whip,  pointing  upwards  to  an  open  window,  from 
which  Mary  was  leaning. 

"  Right,"  said  the  squire,  winking  in  his  vulgar  man- 
ner, "  I  see  what  you  mean ;  little  pitchers  have  long 
ears.  Come  farther  from  the  window,  my  man,  come 
here  under  the  trees.  Now,  without  playing  the  good 
boy  any  longer,  you  may  tell  us  all  the  truth." 

"  I  have  told  the  truth — I  always  tell  the  truth,"  said 
Frank,  in  an  indignant  tone :  "  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say." 

"  Well,  well,  do  not  be  angry,  my  little  man,"  said 
the  squire.  "  You  need  not  grow  as  red  as  a  turkey- 
cock.  Good-morning  to  you ;  I  am  sorry  they  will  make 
a  Miss  Molly  of  such  a  fine  little  fellow.  I  would  have 
made  a  man  of  you — like  Tom  here." 

Frank's  countenance  expressed,  perhaps,  too  plainly, 
that  he  felt  no  ambition  to  be  like  Tom. 

"  Like  me  !  he  despises  me.  Don't  you  see,  squire, 
he  is  too  fine  a  gentleman  for  that  ?  too  fine  too  keep 
company  with  me,  or  you  either.  Squire  Rogers,"  said 
Tom,  with  a  mariced  emphasis  on  you, 

"  What's  that  *  Say  you  so !  Too  fine  a  gentleman 
to  keep  company  with  me  ?  Sits  the  wind  in  that  quar- 
ter T"  cried  the  squire.  His  countenance  suddenly  al- 
tering, he  looked  at  Frank  with  a  furious  eye,  the  blood 
at  the  same  time  mounting  in  his  face,  which  grew 
crimson  in  an  instant.  "  My  little  fine  gentleman,  is 
this  the  meaning  of  your  much  obliged  to  you,  sir?  I 
would  have  you,  sir,  and  all  whom  it  may  concern,  to 
know,  that  the  Rogers's  ^d  the  Squires's  are  as  old  a 


284  FRANK. 

family  as  your  own,  and  fit  company  for  a  prince  of  the 
blood,  whatever  you  or  yours  may  think  of  it,  young 
Mr.  Cockahoop.  If  ever  1  trouble  myself  to  pick  you 
or  any  thing  like  you  out  of  a  ditch — if  ever  I  come 
again  within  these  gates  to  look  for  you,  my  name's  not 
.  Squires  Rogers.  Look  you,  master  white  face :  I'll 
never  speak  to  you  again  the  longest  day  I  live." 

The  oaths  which  he  poured  forth,  in  the  fury  to  which 
he  had  now  worked  himself,  shocked  and  amazed  Frank 
to  such  a  degree  that  he  stood  motionless  and  breath- 
less. The  passionate  squire  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  and 
galloped  off;  and  Tom,  after  laughing  immoderately, 
followed. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  said  Mary,  as  soon  as  Frank 
came  up  stairs  into  the  room  where  she  and  his  father 
and  mother  were. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said  at  last,  Mary  1"  said 
Frank. 

"  No,  I  only  heard  his  voice  very  loud ;  but  he  was 
so  far  off  I  could  not  hear  any  words  distinctly." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  Frank,  "  for  they  were  not 
words  fit  for  you  to  hear ;  and  pray  don't  ask  me  any 
thing  about  it." 

"  Then  pray,"  said  Mary,  "  do  not  tell  me  any  thing 
about  it.  Only  this  one  thing  I  must  ask,  whether  you 
ended  with  saying  '  no,'  as  you  ought  to  do  ]" 

"  That  I  did,"  answered  Frank. 

"  And  did  you  feel  it  very  difficult  to  say  it,  and  to 
hold  firm  to  it  V  said  Mary. 

"  The  first '  no'  was  very  difficult,  when  he  was  good- 
tiatured  to  me,"  said  Frank.  "  But  the  last  '  noes'  were 
very  easy.  I'm  glad  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
him.  Papa,  even  when  the  squire  was  most  kind  to 
me,  I  could  not  help  observing  that  he  used  very  vulgar 
expressions.  You  were  quite  right,  mamma;  but  he 
says  he'll  never  speak  to  me  again." 

"  Not  speak  to  you  again  f  said  Mary.  "  A  few 
minutes  ago  I  heard  him  say  you  were  worth  your 
Aveight  in  gold,  and  that  he  loved  you  as  if  you  were  his 
own  son.  I  thought  I  saw  you,  Frank,  with  your  arm 
about  his  neck." 

"  You  did,"  said  Frank,  blushing.  "  I  could  not  help 
liking  him  when  he  said  so  many  kind  things  to  me,  for 
I  believe  he  was  really  sincere  ;  I  don't  think  he  flat- 
tered me ;  and  I  was  sorry  for  him,  poor  man,  when  he 


FRANK.  285 

spoke  of  his  son  that  died :  but,  manama,  how  very  ex- 
traordinary that  he  should  go  so  suddenly,  in  a  few- 
minutes,  from  praising  me,  and  liking  me  exceedingly, 
to  disliking  me,  and  abusing  me  violently.  I  cannot 
tell  even  what  put  him  into  such  a  rage ;  for  it  was  not 
merely  my  saying  no,  it  was  something  that  Tom  said 
about  my  being  a  fine  gentleman." 

"  Ah !  that  Tom  does  not  like  you,"  said  Mary*  "  I 
do  believe  he  is  envious." 

"  I  never  before  saw  or  heard  a  man  in  such  a  pas- 
sion," continued  Frank.  "  It  is  very  surprising  that  he 
could  change  so  quickly :  but,  mamma,  you  and  papa 
don't  appear  at  aii  surprised." 

"  No,  my  dear,  it  is  not  so  surprising  to  us,''  SEud  his 
father,  "  that  a  person  who  has  had  little  education,  and 
who  acts  only  from  the  fancy  or  the  feeling  of  the  mo- 
ment, without  being  governed  by  reason,  or  by  any 
steady  principles,  should,  as  you  describe,  love  and 
hate,  praise  and  abuse  you  in  the  course  of  a  few  min- 
utes, and  without  any  just  cause.  I  am  glad  you  have 
seen  and  felt  some  of  the  inconveniences  that  might 
arise  from  associating  with  such  people." 

"And  I,"  said  Frank,  "am  very  glad  I  have  noth- 
ing more  to  do  with  Squire  Rogers,  good-natured  as 
he  is." 

"  Now  go,"  said  his  mother,  "  and  eat  that  cherry-pie 
with  Mary,  who  would  not  eat  any  till  you  came  in.'' 

Frank,  who  wanted  some  refreshment  after  his  fa- 
tigues of  body  and  mind,  obeyed  his  mother  with  even 
more  than  his  usual  alacrity;  but  when  he  came  to  the 
last  cherry,  he  resumed  his  reflections. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  was  Squire  Rogers  really  bom  a 
gentleman  ^  for  I  remember  in  his  passion  he  said  that 
his  family  was  as  good  as  that  of  any  gentleman  in 
England." 

"He  is  of  a  good  ancient  family;  he  was  bom,  but 
not  bred  a  gentleman:  he  was  early  suffered  to  keep 
low  company,  and  he  became  fond,  when  a  boy,  of  their 
vulgar  jests,  and  he  delighted  in  their  vulgar  praise. 
As  a  man,  he  has  continued  to  feel  the  mean  vanity  of 
wishing  to  be  the  first  person  in  company,  and  as  he 
could  not  be  superior  in  the  society  of  gentlemen  of 
cultivated  minds,  he  shunned  their  conversation,  in 
vhich  he  felt  himself  always  uneasy ;  and  he  has  lived 
vith  his  inferiors,  by  whom  he  is  admired : — 


886  FRANK. 

" '  Fond  of  applause,  he  sought  the  feasts 
Of  vulgar  and  ignoble  beasts.'" 

"  Papa,"  said  Mary,  "  I  know  where  those  lines  are." 

"  Do  you  indeed,  Mary  ]"  said  Frank.  "  How  odd  it 
is  that  you  should  know  what  I  do  not.  "Where  are 
those  lines  V 

"  Guess,"  said  Mary. 

"  Say  more  of  them,"  said  Frank,  "  and  then  I  will 
tell  you,  if  i  know  where  they  are." 

Mary  repeated, 

"  '  A  lion  cub  of  sordid  mind, 
Avoided  all  the  lion  kind.' 

"  Oh,  Frank,  I  have  told  it  to  you  now ;  if  you  do  not 
know  it  now  you  never  read  it ;  nor  did  I  ever  read  it 
till  yesterday.  May  I  take  down  the  book — ^your  large 
beautiful  Gay's  Fables,  with  prints,  mamma?" 

"  You  may,"  said  she. 

She  took  down  the  book,  and  found  the  fable  of  the 
Lion  and  the  Cub,  which  Frank  begged  that  she  would 
read  to  him,  whilst  he  eat  a  second  edition  of  cherry- 
pie.        *  *  *  *  *  *  • 

The  winter  and  spring  passed,  and  summer  came 
again.  Nothing  remarkable  occurred  in  Frank's  history 
during  some  months. 

We  must  not,  however,  omit  the  history  of  some 
rides  which  he  took  at  different  times  with  his  father. 
In  one  of  these  he  went  to  see  his  friend  Colonel  Birch, 
who  was  now,  to  his  great  happiness,  with  his  regiment, 
quartered  in  a  neighbouring  town.  Colonel  Birch  rode 
with  them  to  the  race-ground,  where  the  regiment  were 
then  exercising  by  the  officer  second  in  command. 

Frank  had  never,  till  now,  seen  soldiers  manoeuvred. 
It  was  a  regiment  of  horse ;  and  Frank  was  much 
amused  with  seeing  them  perform  their  exercises.  He 
observed  how  obedient  men  and  horses  were  to  the 
word  of  command,  and  how  useful  and  necessary  it  was 
that  they  should  be  so.  The  regiment  were  now  dis- 
mounted, and  having  formed  into  a  line.  Colonel  Birch, 
turning  to  Frank,  said  quickly,  "  Dismount,  Frank,  and 
give  your  horse  to  this  man  to  hold." 

Frank  did  so  with  the  same  promptness  with  which 
he  saw  the  soldiers  obey.  The  instant  afterward  he 
heard  a  man  call  out  some  words  which  he  did  not  dis- 
tinctly hear,  and  all  the  soldiers  fired  at  once,  with  a 


FRANK.  287 

noise  that  made  Frank  start,  and  Felix  rear  and  plunge 
so  much  that  the  man  could  scarcely  hold  him.  Frank 
observed  that  Colonel  Birch's  horse,  and  the  horses  of 
all  the  soldiers,  stood  perfectly  quiet  during  the  firing. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  father ;  "  because  they  have  been 
trained  or  taught  to  do  so." 

"  And  whenever  you  can  leave  Felix  with  me,"  said 
Colonel  Birch,  "  for  some  time,  I  will  have  him  taught 
to  stand  fire,  if  you  like  it.  It  is  all  custom :  you,  Frank, 
will  stand  fire  the  next  time  better  yourself;  you  will 
not  start  so  much  as  you  did  just  now,  when  you  next 
hear  the  men  fire." 

"  I  wish,  sir,  you  would  make  them  do  it  again,"  said 
Frank. 

"By-and-by,"  said  the  colonel,  "they  will  fire  again." 

"  Would  you  be  so  very  good  as  to  give  me  notice  be- 
forehand, that  I  may  be  prepared  V  said  Frank. 

"  When  you  hear  the  words  '  Make  ready,'  be  pre- 
pared, for  '  Fire'  Avill  come  soon  afterward,"  said  the 
colonel. 

As  soon  as  Frank  heard  the  words  "  Make  ready,"  he 
stood  firm  and  upright,  but  squeezing  the  handle  of  his 
whip  very  hard.  "  Present — Fire  !"  Frank  stood  fire 
this  time  with  only  a  little,  a  scarcely  perceptible  start. 
And  the  third  time  there  was  only  a  twinkUng  of  the 
eyelashes. 

Colonel  Birch  smiled,  and  said,  "  There's  the  making 
of  a  good  soldier  in  that  boy." 

When  Frank  returned  home  after  this  ride,  he  acted 
all  that  he  could  remember  of  the  horse  exercise,  re- 
peating it  almost  unceasingly  for  his  mother  and  Mary : 
and  he  showed  how  Felix  reared  and  plunged  when  the 
firing  came ;  and  how  he,  the  last  time,  stood  stock  still, 
all  except  his  eyelashes.  The  twinkling  of  the  eye- 
lashes he  carefully  excepted ;  for  though  Frank,  it  must 
be  acknowledged,  was  sometimes  rather  vain,  he  was 
always  perfectly  true ;  his  vanity  never  made  him  con- 
ceal any  circumstance  that  made  cigainst  himself,  that 
is  to  say,  when  he  recollected  it.  But  his  head  was  so 
full  of  soldiers,  and  sergeants,  and  colonels,  and  uni- 
forms, and  pistols,  and  powder,  and  make  ready !  pre- 
sent !  fire  !— and  he  repeated  so  often,  "  Mary,  did  I  tell 
you  what  Colonel  Birch  said  of  me  1  Mamma,  do  you 
know  Colonel  Birch  said,  '  There's  the  making  of  a  good 
soldier  in  that  boy,'  " — that  his  mother  at  last  could  bear 


38^  FRANK. 

it  no  longer,  and  she  insisted  on  his  being  quiet,  or  go- 
ing into  the  hall  to  finish  his  exercise. 

A  few  days  after  this,  his  father  took  him  to  see  a  re- 
Tiew.  He  was  amused  by  the  galloping  and  firing,  and 
looking  at  the  foot  soldiers  marching  in  lines,  as  if  they 
were  all  machines ;  their  legs,  as  he  said,  like  parts  of 
a  stocking-frame,  which  his  father  had  once  shown  him. 
He  admired  at  first  the  fine  caps  and  hehnets  of  the  offi- 
cers, but  he  observed  that  these  were  hot  and  heavy. 
He  was  excessively  hoi  himself,  standing  in  the  broiling 
sun  to  see  the  review,  which  he  thought  lasted  rather 
long.  When  he  was  afterward  sitting  cool  and  comfort- 
able in  Colonel  Birches  room,  he  heard  that  two  or  three 
of  the  soldiers  had  dropped  (fainted  with  the  heat).  He 
expressed  his  surprise  and  pity;  but  the  colonel  said 
that  this  was  nothing  uncommon ,  that  it  was  part  of  a 
soldier's  duty  to  bear  heat  and  cold  as  it  happened :  and 
as  he  spoke  he  took  off  his  own  heavy  high  helmet, 
and  wiped  his  forehead  and  face.  Frank  said,  "  I  per- 
ceive that  being  a  soldier  or  an  officer  is  not  all  play 
and  pleasure." 

"  No,  in  truth,"  said  Colonel  Birch :  and  some  other 
officers  who  were  with  him  laughed  ;  and  one  said,  "  If 
he  thinks  so  much  of  this  day's  heat,  what  would  he 
think  of  the  heat  we  had  in  Spain  V 

The  officers  then  began  to  talk  to  one  another  of  the 
different  battles  in  which  they  had  been,  in  Spain, 
France,  and  Flanders.  First  they  spoke  with  triumph 
of  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  This  delighted  Frank,  and 
more  than  ever  he  wished  to  be  a  soldier.  But  then 
another  described  the  field  of  Waterloo  the  day  after 
the  battle ;  and  he  told  such  horrible  things,  that  Frank's 
blood  thrilled ;  and  then  he  thought  that  for  the  whol^ 
world  he  would  not  be  a  soldier.  The  officers  closed 
round,  talking  eagerly,  without  minding  him,  or  recol- 
lecting that  he  was  present.  He  heard  the  truth  about 
the  hardships,  as  well  as  the  pleasures,  of  a  soldier's 
life.  He  looked  at  the  prints  which  were  hanging  up 
in  the  room— the  battles  of  Alexander,  and  the  deaths 
of  General  W'olfe  and  Lord  Nelson ;  but  when  he  came 
home  this  day,  he  read  over  again,  with  Mary,  the 
"  Price  of  Victory"  in  "  Evenings  at  Home." 

One  ride  which  Frank  took  about  this  time,  he  told 
his  mother  and  Mary  was  the  most  deUghtful  ride  in 
the  world :  he  said,  "It  was  charming !  beautiful !  most 


FRANK.  289 

beautiful ! — All  rocks,  and  trees,  and  water,  mamma ; 
and  water,  and  trees,  and  rocks,  Mary — you  understand. 
First,  mamma,  we  went  along  your  favourite  lane,  then 
out  into  the  common,  and  there  was  fine  cantering  till 
we  reached  a  great  wood,  and  came  under  high  shady 
trees ;  then  we  went  on  winding  and  winding  round 
the  corners  of  rocks,  not  knowing  what  was  to  come 
next,  but  at  every  turn  something  always  appeared  more 
beautiful  than  before.  At  last  we  came  to  a  park,  and 
from  all  that  I  could  see  of  it  over  the  paling,  it  is  the 
most  beautiful  park  in  the  world :  it  is  called  Belion;- 
bre." 

"  What  a  pretty  name  !"  said  Mary. 

"  But,"  continued  Frank,  "  when  we  came  to  the  park 
gate — oh,  disappointment,  Mary !  the  people  were  not 
at  home ;  and  the  woman  at  the  gate  stood  with  her 
great  keys  in  her  hand,  deaf,  and  stupid,  and  cross  ;  so 
cross  that  she  would  not  let  us  in,  even  to  go  through. 
But  1  had  one  comfort ;  we  came  home  by  a  quite  new 
way,  which  I  will  not  describe  to  you,  because  papa  says 
you  shall  drive  there  some  time  and  see  it,  and  seeing 
is  better  than  all  the  descriptions  in  the  world — quite 
another  thing."  On  this  point,  as  in  most  others,  Mary 
agreed  with  Frank  in  taste. 

No  more  accounts  of  Frank's  rides  at  this  season  have 
reached  us.  Felix  was  sent  to  Colonel  Birch  to  be  taught 
to  stand  fire. 

About  this  time  Frank  read  some  accounts  of  ship- 
wrecks, from  which  he  saw  how  useful  it  would  be  to 
know  how  to  swim,  in  order  to  save  the  lives  of  others, 
or  perhaps  his  own  life.  And  in  looking  for  the  article 
swimming,  in  some  encyclopedia,  he  learned  that  the  an- 
cients considered  this  art  as  so  necessary  a  part  of 
education,  that  when  they  wanted  to  describe  a  rude, 
ignorant  man,  they  said  that  he  had  not  learned  either 
to  read  or  to  swim. 

Immediately,  with  Mary's  assistance,  he  hunted 
through  the  library  for  an  "Art  of  Swimming  on  Dry 
Land,"  which  once  upon  a  time,  in  dusting  the  books,  he 
remembered  to  have  seen.  They  found  it,  and,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  directions  there  given,  he  began  to 
sprawl  on  the  floor,  and  to  spread  out  his  arms  for  fins, 
working  with  his  legs  as  fishes  do  with  their  tails.  This 
exercise  Mary  could  never  see  with  as  much  gravity  as 
Frank  required ;  and  she  argued  that  swimming  in  real 
N  25 


290  FRANK.  '4 

water  must  be  so  different,  that  she  did  not  think  this 
swimming  on  boards  could  be  of  much  use. 

He  never  listened  much  to  her  objections,  till  she  one 
day  found,  in  one  of  Franklin's  letters,  some  advice 
which  fixed  his  attention,  and  he  started  up  from  the 
floor  to  listen  to  her  as  she  read  to  him — 

"  You  will  be  no  swimmer  till  you  can  place  some  con- 
fidence in  the  power  of  the  water  to  support  you.  I 
would  therefore  advise  your  acquiring  that  confidence 
in  the  first  place." 

"  But  look  here,"  said  Frank,  turning  over  thc'page, 
and  pointing  to  another  passage  ;  "  he  says,  that  if  a  per- 
son unacquainted  with  swimming,  and  falling  accident- 
ally into  the  water,  could  have  presence  of  mind  suffi- 
cient to  avoid  struggling  and  plunging,  and  to  let  the 
body  take  this  natural  position,  he  might  long  continue 
safe  from  drowning,  till,  perhaps,  help  would  come." 

But  all  depends,  as  Frank's  mother  observed,  upon  the 
person's  letting  the  body  take  this  natural  position ;  and 
what  this  might  be  Frank  was  not  sure  :  he  looked  back 
to  find  out ;  and  read  several  observations  and  direc- 
tions :  and  Mary  found  that  they  all  ended  by  saying, 

"  I  cannot  depend  on  your  having  the  necessary  pres- 
ence of  mind  to  recollect  that  posture,  and  the  directions 
I  gave  you  relating  to  it.  The  surprise  may  put  all  out 
of  your  mind." 

"  Well  then,"  said  Frank,  "  let  us  see  how  it  is  neces- 
sary to  acquire  this  confidence  in  the  power  of  the  wa- 
ter to  support  one,  which  he  talks  of  so  much." 

Mary  read  on  as  follows — 

"  Choosing  a  place  where  the  water  deepens  gradual- 
ly, walk  coolly  into  it  till  it  is  up  to  your  breast ;  then 
turn  round  your  face  to  the  shore,  and  throw  an  egg  into 
the  water,  between  you  and  the  shore.  It  will  sink  to 
the  bottom,  and  be  easily  seen  there,  as  the  water  is 
clear.  It  must  lie  in  water  so  deep  that  you  cannot 
reach  it  to  take  it  up  but  by  diving  for  it.  To  encour- 
age yourself  in  undertaking  to  do  this,  reflect  that  your 
progress  will  be  from  deeper  to  shallower  water,  and 
that  at  any  time  you  may,  by  bringing  your  legs  under 
you,  and  standing  on  the  bottom,  raise  your  head  far 
above  water.  Then  plunge  under  it  with  your  eyes 
open,  throw  yourself  towards  the  egg,  and  endeavour, 
by  the  action  of  your  hands  and  feet  against  the  water, 
to  get  forward  till  within  reach  of  it.    In  this  attempt, 


J-RAKK.  ,  -J(|il 

you  will  find  that  the  water  buoys  you  up  against  your 
inclination ;  that  it  is  not  so  easy  a  thing  to  sink  as  you 
imagined  ;  that  you  cannot,  but  by  active  force,  get 
down  to  the  egg.  Thus  you  feel  the  power  of  the 
water  to  support  you,  and  learn  to  confide  in  that 
power,  while  your  endeavours  to  overcome  it,  and  to 
reach  the  egg,  teach  you  the  manner  of  acting  on  the 
water  with  your  feet  and  hands,  which  action  is  after- 
ward used  in  swimming,  to  support  your  head  higher 
above  water,  or  to  go  forward  through  it." 

Frank  wanted  tp  set  about  this  experiment  of  the  egg 
immediately,  and  said  he  knew  a  very  good  shallow 
place  near  his  island.  But  his  mother  insisted  upon  it 
that  nothing  should  be  done  without  asking  his  father's 
advice  upon  the  subject.  Now  his  father  was  out  ri- 
ding, and  he  was  obliged  to  wait  for  three  hours,  whicli 
he  did  with  tolerable  patience,  amusing  himself  in  the  in- 
terval with  reading  all  that  Franklin  says  on  the  art  of 
swimming  in  his  own  life,  and  in  one  of  his  essays,  iu 
answer  to  some  inquiries  of  a  friend  on  the  subject. 
Some  experiments  which  Franklin  tried  when  he  was  a 
boy  particularly  interested  him,  especially  one  about 
swimming  across  a  pond  without  the  least  fatigue,  by 
the  help  of  a  paper  kite.  The  moment  his  father  alight- 
ed from  his  horse,  and  before  he  had  time  to  lay  down 
his  whip,  Frank  ran  to  him,  and  catching  hold  of  him, 
said,  t 

"  Papa,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  teach  me  to  swim  T 
and  to-morrow  may  I  try  the  experiment  of  the  egg  and 
the  paper  kite,  which  I  will  read  to  you  now,  if  you 
please  V 

His  father  thanked  him,  but  said  that  he  had  not  time 
just  then ;  however,  at  a  proper  opportunity,  he  under- 
took to  teach  him,  or  rather  to  let  him  learn  to  swim. 

When  he  had  leisure,  he  allowed  Frank  to  try  the  ex- 
periment of  the  egg,  but  that  of  the  kite  must  be  post- 
poned, he  said,  tillhe  was  older,  and  till  he  should  know 
well  how  to  swini. 

He  promised  his  mother  that  he  would  never  go  into 
the  water  unless  his  father  should  give  him  leave,  and 
his  father  always  was  present  during  his  first  attempts. 
After  he  had  acquired  that  necessary  confidence  in  the 
support  of  the  water  on  which  Franklin  and  Mary  laid 
such  judicious  stress,  he  went  into  the  water  without 
fear,  and  found  that  he  could  attend  to  the  instructions 
N3 


^2  FRANK. 

given  him,  which,  at  first,  were  simply  to  keep  himself 
balanced  as  well  as  he  could  by  moving  his  arms  about. 

During  the  course  of  this  summer,  before  the  cold 
weather  came  on,  Frank  could  swim  tolerably  well,  and 
often  he  wished  to  swim  when  he  was  alone  ;  but  as  his 
mother  had  required  that  he  should  not  attempt  this,  he 
repressed  this  desire  as  far  as  he  could,  nor  did  he  tor- 
ment her  by  asking  above  a  hundred  times  to  be  ab- 
solved from  his  promise.  His  mother  was  so  secure 
of  his  honour,  that  she  never  was  anxious  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

At  last  Felix  returned,  and  Frank's  next  ride  was  to 
Colonel  Birch,  who  was  manoeuvring  the  regiment  this 
day  himself,  therefore  could  not  speak  to  them  ;  and 
Frank  thought  it  was  very  long  and  tiresome,  till  it 
came  to  the  moment  when  Felix  was  to  show  that  he 
could  stand  fire,  which  he  did.  Frank  sat  him,  and,  as 
he  told  Mary,  this  was  all  the  diversion  he  had  on  pa- 
rade ;  it  was  only  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again, 
and  he  M'as  glad  when  it  was  finished,  and  when  Colo- 
nel Birch  could  come  to  them. 

"  In  his  own  house,"  said  Frank,  "  or  in  his  own  cas- 
tle (for  he  is  lodged  in  the  castle),  he  was  very  agree- 
able and  kind,  mamma,  as  he  always  is,  in  recollecting 
that  I  am  by,  and  in  showing  me  and  telling  me  enter- 
taining things.  As  we  passed  along  the  passages  of  the 
castle,  he  showed  me  the  narrow  slits  in  the  thick  walls, 
the  loopholes  through  which  people  used  to  watch  and 
ward,  and  fire  ;  and  he  told  rae  about  how  castles  and 
places  were  defended,  both  before  and  after  the  inven- 
tion of  fire-arms,  Mary.  But  I  need  not  tell  you  this, 
because  you  will  never  have  to  defend  places.  But  I 
must  tell  you  a  story  about  playing  with  fire-arms,  be 
cause  that  may  be  useful  to  you  and  to  everybody." 

"  Playing  with  fire-arms  useful !  What  can  you  mean, 
Frank  ?"  said  his  mother. 

"  Not  the  playing  with  them,  I  mean,  mamma.  "When 
we  went  into  the  colonel's  own  room,  he  took  up  a  pair 
of  Spanish  pistols  to  show  papa,  and  he  said, '  I  believe 
they  are  not  loaded,  but  I  never  trust  to  that  belief  with- 
out trying.'  Then  he  thrust  the  ramrod,  as  it  is  called, 
down  into  the  pistol,  and  showed  me  how  to  try  whether 
a  pistol  is  loaded  or  not.  And  he  advised  me  never  to 
snap  a  pistol  or  gun  without  first  trying  whether  it  is 
loaded.    He  told  me  that  when  he  was  a  boy,  he  was 


*^. 


FRANK.  293 

once  very  near  killing  his  own  brother  by  playing  with 
a  gun,  which  he  thought  he  was  quite  sure  he  had  left 
unloaded ;  but  his  servant  had  loaded  it  again,  and  set  it 
up  in  the  corner  of  .the  parlour ;  and  Colonel  Birch,  not 
knowing  this,  at  night,  by  candlelight,  took  up  the  gun, 
and  in  foolish  play,  said  to  his  brother,  '  dare  you  stand 
fife  V  He  fired,  and  the  bullet  whizzed  by,  put  out  the 
candle,  and  lodged — he  did  not  know  where — for  there 
was  a  dead  silence  for  an  instant.  His  brother  spoke, 
and  told  him  that  he  was  not  hurt :  the  bullet  had  lodged 
in  the  wainscot  just  over  his  head. 

"  Colonel  Birch  could  not  relate  this  without  shud- 
dering. But  I  must  make  you  shudder,  Mary,  with  an- 
other horrible  story." 

"  Oh!  Frank,  pray  tell  me  the  story  that  will  make 
me  shudder — is  it  true  V 

"  Quite  true,  papa  said  so  ;  and  papa  said  it  happened 
to  a  relation  of  his  own,  a  gentleman  who  was  very  fond 
of  his  wife. 

"  One  day  her  husband,  in  play,  to  try  if  she  would 
be  frightened,  took  up  a  gun  that  was  in  the  corner  of 
the  room,  feeling  quite  sure  that  it  was  not  loaded,  and 
he  pointed  it  at  her :  but  she  smiled,  and  said  she  knew 
he  would  not  hurt  her ;  she  did  not  shrink,  or  change 
countenance,  but  was  so  composed  and  quiet,  that  it 
was  no  diversion  to  him  to  try  to  frighten  her  more ; 
and  though  he  had  his  finger  on  the  trigger  of  the  gun 
he  did  not  pull  it,  but  went  to  put  it  again  in  its  place. 
Before  he  put  it  by,  however,  he  ran  the  ramrod  down, 
to  show,  as  he  thought,  that  it  was  not  loaded ;  but  to 
his  astonishment  and  horror,  he  found  a  bullet  in  it. 
Oh !  Mary,  if  he  had  fired  it — if  he  had  shot  his  wife." 

"  Poor  manf  said  Mary:  "  how  frightened  he  must 
have  been," 

"  Do  you  know,  Mary,  by-the-by,  the  trigger  of  a  gun, 
or  of  a  pistol;  and  do  you  know  how  they  are  loaded 
and  fired  V 

"  Not  exactly." 

"  Nor  did  1  exactly,  till  this  morning,"  said  Frank.  "  I 
had  a  general  notion,  but  then  I  did  not  know  about  the 
toueh-hole,  and  the  spark  from  the  flint  which  sets  the 
gunpowder  on  fire.  My  father  showed  and  explained  all 
this  to  me,  and  he  will,  I  dare  say,  show  it  to  you  if  you 
ask  him,  because  there  is  no  harm  in  women  knowing 
about  these  things,  is  there,  mamma  ?" 
25* 


Sf4  FRANK. 

"  Far  from  harm,  there  is  use  in  such  knowledge,  be- 
cause it  shows  where  and  what  the  real  danger  is,"  an- 
swered his  mother. 

"  Not  like  some  foolish  lady,  whom  I  heard  say  she 
would  not  sit  in  a  room  with  a  gun  or  a  pistol,  lest  it 
should  shoot  her  of  itself.  But,  Mary,"  said  Frank,  "  I 
was  going  on  to  tell  you,  what  I  have  forgotten  twenty 
times — what  gunpowder  is  made  of  It  is  made  of — do 
you  know,  Mary  V 

"  No,"  said  Mary. 

"  I  will  not  tell  you,  Mary,  till  papa  shows  you  how  a 
pistol  is  fired ;  because,  then,  you  will  remember  it  as  I  do 
now.  I  am  very  glad  to  know  all  about  these  manly 
things ;  they  are  must  wants  to  man,"  sjiid  Frank,  "  and 
when  I  am  a  man — " 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  interrupted  his  mother, "  it  will  be 
long  before  that  time  comes.  Finish  first  what  you 
have  to  tell  us  about  Colonel  Birch,  and  do  not  go  off  to 
what  you  are  to  do  when  you  are  a  man." 

"  Well,  ma'am :  he  showed  me  next  one  of  the  sort 
of  muskets  which  people  used  when  fire-arms  were  first 
invented,  and  before  they  were  perfected,  when  people 
did  not  hold  them  in  their  hands  all  the  time  they  pri- 
med, and  loaded,  and  fired.  Mary,  one  of  our  history 
facts  was  of  use  to  me,  and  I  was  very  glad  to  recollect 
it.  When  Colonel  Birch  was  showing  me  in  a  book 
some  strange  old  engravings  of  a  battle,  at  which  arms 
were  first  used,  I  knew  it  was  the  battle  of  Crecy." 

"  I  am  glad  you  knew  it,"  said  Mary. 

"  So  am  I,  because  that  made  Colonel  Birch  talk  to 
me  a  great  deal  more,  and  show  me  a  fine  old  bow  ;  and 
he  would  have  told  and  showed  me  many  other  things ; 
but,  unluckily,  somebody  came  to  call  for  him,  and  he 
and  papa  were  obliged  to  go  and  talk  to  some  men,  and 
they  did  not  choose  to  take  me.  So  1  was  left  alone  a 
good  while." 

"  In  the  room  with  the  guns  and  pistols,"  said  Mary. 
"  But  I  am  sure  you  did  not  meddle  with  them." 

"  No,  indeed !"  said  Frank.  "  Touch  them  !  after  all 
Colonel  Birch  had  said !" 

"  Oh  no ;  to  be  sure  you  never  touch  what  is  not  your 
own,"  Mary  began — but  she  stopped  short ;  for  she  did 
not  like  to  put  him  in  mind  of  the  unhappy  day  when 
he  meddled  with  the  engineer's  instruments.  Frank 
recollected  it,  however,  and  looked  ashamed. 


FRANK.  295 

"  Well,  what  did  you  do  when  you  were  left  alone  in 
Colonel  Birch's  room?" 

"  I  looked  at  the  prints  and  books,  for  he  told  me  that 
I  might ;  and  among  the  books  I  found  one  which  Col- 
onel Birch  had  borrowed  from  my  father :  there  was 
my  father's  name  in  it,  and  an  inscription  stamped  in 
printed  gold  letters — '  Prize  Book  ;'  and  the  date  of  the 
time  when  it  was  given  to  him  at  school." 

"  And  what  was  the  book  V  said  Frank's  mother. 

"  Homer's  Iliad,  translated  by  Mr.  Alexander  Pope, 
mamma." 

His  mother  smiled ;  he  did  not  know  why. 

"  Go  on,  my  dear." 

"  So  1  went  on,  mamma,  looking  at  this  book  ;  and  I 
recollected  papa's  having  told  me  once  something  about 
the  heroes  in  Homer's  Iliad,  Achilles  and  Hector,  being 
fond  of  talking  to  their  horses,  as  I  did  to  Felix.  So  I 
looked  to  find  this.  And  my  father  had  said,  too,  that 
I  should  like  somebody  with  a  hard  name  which  I  could 
not  remember ;  but  1  thought  that  if  I  saw  the  name  in 
the  book  I  should  be  sure  to  know  it ;  so  1  turned  over 
the  leaves  one  by  one,  and  as  I  was  turning  over  the 
pages  I  saw  some  beautiful  lines  about  the  moon, 
Mary,  which  I  learned  by  heart  for  you. 

"'As  when  the  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  night, 
O'er  heaven's  clear  azure  sheds  her  sacred  light, 
When  not  a  breath  disturbs  the  deep  serene, 
And  not  a  cloud  o'ercasts  the  solemn  scene; 
Around  her  throne  the  vivid  planets  roll, 
And  stars  unnumbered  gild  the  glowing  pole, 
O'er  the  dark  trees  a  yellower  verdure  shed, 
And  tip  with  silver  every  mountain's  head. 
Then  shine  the  vales,  the  rocks  in  prospect  rise, 
A  flood  of  glory  bursts  from  all  the  skies, 
The  conscious  swams,  rejoicing  in  the  sight. 
Eye  the  blue  vault,  and  bless  the  useful  light.' " 

Frank  repeated  these  lines  as  if  he  felt  their  spirit 
thoroughly.  Mary  was  so  much  struck  with  them  that 
she  stood  silent  with  admiration. 

She  afterward  asked  him  to  say  them  again :  and  she 
liked  them  better  the  second  time  than  the  first :  she 
wished  to  hear  more  of  that  poem,  she  said ;  and  she  and 
Frank  asked  his  father  if  they  might  read' to  themselves 
the  great  Homer  in  his  study.  He  thought  that  they, 
could  not  yet  understand  it  all,  and  that,  therefore,  it 
would  tire  them  if  they  attempted  to  read  it  to  them- 


296  PRANK. 

selves ;  and  thus  they  would  spoil  the  great  pleasure 
■which  they  would  certainly  have  in  reading  it  at  a  fu- 
ture time.  Before  they  could  understand  the  Iliad, 
they  must,  he  said,  have  some  knowledge  of  the  fabu- 
lous histories  of  the  heathen  gods  and  goddesses,  or 
what  is  called  ancient  mythology. 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "  you  forget  that  you  did  explain 
some  of  this  to  us,  and  you  lent  me  a  little  book,  from 
which  mamma  says  we  have  learned  all  that  is  neces- 
sary for  understanding  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey." 

Finding  upon  examisation  that  this  was  true,  his 
father  told  him,  as  shortly  as  he  could,  the  general  his- 
tory or  argument  of  the  poem,  and  complied  with  his 
request  of  reading  a  few  passages  to  him.  He  thought 
that  even  hearing  the  sound  of  good  lines  early  forms 
or  teaches  the  ear  to  like  harmonious  poetry. 

Among  the  passages  which  their  father  read  to  them 
was  the  account  of  some  games  of  wrestlers,  and  ra- 
cers, and  chariot-drivers.  And  when  his  father  read 
of  these,  and  came  to  Antilochus,  Frank  recollected 
that  this  was  the  name  of  the  chief  whom  his  father 
said  he  would  like ;  and  though  it  is  dangerous  often  to 
praise  beforehand,  yet  Frank  did  like  Antilochus,  for 
acknowledging  when  he  was  wrong  in  having  overturn- 
ed his  rival's  chariot  in  the  race,  and  Frank  admired  him 
for  giving  up  the  prize  which  he  had  unfairly  won. 

Frank  and  Mary  were  sorry  when  the  book  was 
closed,  and  they  hoped  that  another  day  they  should 
hear  some  more.  They  wished  particularly  to  hear 
something  of  the  parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache  : 
for  they  had  seen  a  print  of  it,  representing  his  taking 
off  his  helmet,  because  it  frightened  his  little  child. 

Mary  went  to  search  in  the  large  portfolio  for  this 
print,  and  she  found  it,  and  read  with  fresh  delight  the 
following  lines,  which  were  written  under  the  print  :— 

"  '  Th'  illustrious  chief  of  Troy — '  " 

"  Tliat  means  Hector,  you  know,"  said  Frank. 

"  'Th'  illustrious  chief  of  Troy- 
Stretched  his  fond  arms  to  clasp  the  lovely  boy. 
The  babe  clung  crying  to  its  nurse's  breast, 
Scar'd  at  the  dazzling  helm  and  nodding  crest. 
With  secret  pleasure  each  fond  parent  smiled, 
And  Hector  hasted  to  relieve  his  child  ; 
The  glitfring  terrors  from  his  brows  unbound. 
And  placed  the  beauujig  helmet  on  the  ground.' " 


FRANK.  297 


Late  one  evening  Frank's  father  came  in  with  a  let-  . 
ter  in  his  hand.     Frank  heard  him  read  it.     It  was  from 
his  friend  the  engineer,  and  it  concluded  with  these 
words — 

"  I  shall  be  with  you  in  three  days  after  you  receive 
this  letter,  and  I  hope  that  I  shall  find  that  my  young 
friend — " 

"  That's  me,"  said  Frank. 

"  Has  made  himself,  according  to  his  good  resolution, 
quite  clear  about  day  and  night,  and  summer  and  win- 
ter." 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  Mary,  "  have  you  ever  thought 
of  it  since  V 

"  I  did  once,^''  said  Frank.  "  I  understood  it  almost 
then,  and  I  dare  say  I  can  recollect  it,  though  I  own  it 
is  a  very  long  time  since  I  thought  of  it." 

"  You  can  try  and  explain  it  to  me,"  said  Mary,  "  and 
that  will  do  you  good  and  me  too." 

Frank  began  trying  to  explain.  But  after  making 
sundry  motions  with  his  hands,  and  saying  the  earth 
goes  round  the  sun  this  way,  and  the  moon  goes  that 
way,  and  this  way — he  found  that  Mary  could  not  un- 
derstand him  ;  he  must  wait  then,  he  said,  till  the  lamp 
was  lighted  in  the  hall,  and  then  he  was  sure  he  could 
make  it  perfectly  plain.  When  the  lamp  was  lighted, 
he,  with  Mary's  assistance,  placed  under  it  an  oval  table. 

"  Now,  Mary,  my  dear,  1  will  act  the  earth  for  you," 
said  he.  "  Let  that  lamp  be  the  sun,  which  always 
stands  still,  and  I  will  be  the  earth,  which  never  stands 
still,  and  by-and-by  you  shall  be  the  moon;  but  we 
shall  not  come  to  the  moon  yet.  So  as  yet  you  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  look  at  me.  Now  it  shall  be  the  time 
of  the  equinox,  equal  day  and  night :  so  my  head  being 
the  globe  of  the  earth,  you  see  the  light  shining  upon 
my  face  and  half  my  head.  And  now  the  earth  begins 
to  turn,  turn,  turn,  slowly  round,  and  in  twelve  hours 
has  turned  half  round,  thus :  then  it  is  night  for  my 
face,  which  is  in  the  dark,  and  it  is  daylight  for  the 
back  of  my  head.  Then  the  earth  turns,  tarns,  and  in 
twelve  hours  more  has  turned  quite  round  on  its  axis." 

"  Axis !"  interrupted  Mary,  "  what  do  you  mean  by 
axis'?" 

"  Axis  !  my  dear  Mary,  don't  you  know  what  axis 
means  1    Why !  axis  means — it  is  so  easy  I  cannot  ex- 
N3 


•*s 


698  tRANk. 

plain  it  to  you,  if  you  cannot  see  what  it  means  ;  the 
earth  turns  upon  its  axis,  you  know,  and  I  turn  upon  my 
axis,  you  see." 

"  You  turn  upon  your  foot,  but  the  e^th  has  no  foot, 
Frank." 

"  No,  nor  has  it  an  axis  any  more  than  a  foot  in 
reaUty.  The  earth's  axis  is  only  a  supposed  pin,  or  a 
pole,  on  which  it  is  supposed  to  turn ;  and  one  end  of 
that  pole  is  the  north  pole,  and  the  other  end  the  south 
pole.  Here,  the  top  of  my  head  is  the  north  pole,  sup- 
pose." 

"  I  must  suppose  a  great  deal,"  said  Mary.  "  Well,  I 
understand  about  day  and  night,  at  the  equinox ;  but 
now  tell  me  the  cause  of  the  different  lengths  of  day 
and  night  at  different  times  of  the  year :  that's  the  diffi- 
culty." 

"No  difficulty,  Mary,  if  you  will  only  look  at  me. 
Look,  I  am  the  earth  going  round  and  round  on  my  own 
axis,  that  makes  day  and  night,  and  round  the  sun  at 
the  same  time,  for  summer  and  winter." 

'*  For  summer  and  winter,"  said  Mary. 

"  My  dear  Mary,  if  you  stick  at  every  word  you  will 
never  understand." 

"  But,  my  dear  Frank,  I  must  stick'  if  I  don't  under- 
stand ;  and,  indeed,  if  you  will  not  let  me  tell  you  the 
word  at  which  I  stick,  I  am  afraid  I  never  shall  under- 
stand.    I  am  very  stupid." 

"  No,  you  are  not   stupid,  my  dear.      Only  never  ~ 
mind  words,  I  cannot  explain  it  in  words ;  but  look  at 
me,  and  you  will  understand  it  all  perfectly." 

She  looked  with  resigned  attention,  while  Frank  went 
on  spinning  on  one  foot,  and  at  the  same  time  advancing 
continually  in  his  circuit  round  the  oval  table,  still  call- 
ing as  he  went,  "  Day  !  night  I  equinox !  summer  !  long- 
sst  day  !  equinox !  shortest  day  !" 

But  before  Mary  could  understand  this,  Frank  grew 
sick  with  spinning  round.  His  head  failed  before  the 
earth  had  completed  its  annual  journey  round  the  sun; 
he  stopped,  and,  staggering  to  a  chair,  sat  down,  decla- 
ring he  could  not  act  earth  for  Mary  any  longer  till  he 
had  rested. 

She  pitied  him,  and  blamed  her  own  dulness  of  com- 
prehension; but,  after  resting  himself  a  few  minutes, 
Frank  started  up,  exclaiming, 

."  You  are  right  and  I  am  wrong.    Oh  I  I  forgot  that 


.     FRANK.  299 

the  axis  of  the  earth  must  be  sloping :  there  could  be 
no  summer  or  winter  withou^  that,  Mary ;  do  you  un- 
derstand V         *  >  !!♦  i,  ,;^-,.J  1,  I 

"  No."  '  "    ■     ■ 

Mary  looked  still  more  stupified  than  before. 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  stopping  him 
"  you  cannot  possibly  explain  what  you  do  not  clearly 
comprehend.  You  had  better,  as  your  friend  the  engi- 
neer advised,  read  the  explanations  of  these  things  in 
Joyce's  Scientific  Dialogues.  Here  are  the  passages 
which  he  took  the  trouble  to  mark  for  you." 

Frank  read  the  titles  of  the  chapters :  '"On  the  diur- 
nal motion  of  the  earth.'  The  daily  motion  of  the  earth, 
that  I  know  perfectly  well,"  said  he.  "  Then  comes, 
'  Of  day  and  night.'  To  be  sure,  all  .that  everybody 
knows,  Mary.  '  Of  the  seasons.'  This  I  will  read  di- 
rectly :  for  this  is  the  thing  I  do  not  know." 

"  The  only  thing  I  do  not  know,"  he  would  have  said, 
but  that  he  was  restrained  by  something  like  modesty. 
He  sat  down  to  the  chapter  on  the  seasons,  telling  Mary 
that  he  should  finish  it,  and  have  it  all  clear  for  her  be- 
fore he  went  to  bed. 

Perhaps  from  his  not  having  read  those  two  prece- 
ding chapters,  at  which  he  disdained  t©  look,  he  found 
the  affair  of  summer  and  winter  still  incomprehensible. 
And  as  young  readers  sometimes  quarrel  with  a  book 
when  they  should  quarrel  with  themselves,  Frank  began 
to  criticise  rather  severely. 

"  Now,"  in  this  first  sentence,  the  very  first  thing  I 
want  to  know  I  cannot  make  out.  The  man  says  that 
the  axis  of  the  earth  is  inclined  twenty-three  and  a  half 
degrees.  1  don't  know  what  he  means  by  '  degrees,' 
'  direction  parallel  to  itself,' '  orbit,' '  elliptical,'  '  a  long 
ellipse,'  '  vertical  to  the  tropic  of  cancer,'  '  vertical  to 
the  equator,'  '  apparent  diameter.'  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know  what  he  means.  I  wish  he  would  leave  out  his 
hard  words,  and  tell  me  plainly  what  one  wants  to 
know.  He  has  made  it  so  difficult  that  it  is  really 
impossible  for  anybody  living  to  understand  it,"  cried 
Frank. 

Mary,  who  was  growing  sleepy,  said  that  it  was  very 
foolish  for  anybody  to  write  what  nobody  living  could 
understand;  and  with  that  wise  conclusion  she  went 
off  to  bed. 

'  Mamma,"  continued  Frank,  "  I  do  believe  this  man 


30d  FRANK. 

does  not  understand  it  himself,  because  he  cannot  ex- 
plain it." 

"  Because  you  cannot  understand  his  explanation,  do 
you  mean,  Frank.  I" 

"  No,  mother ;  but  I  really  do  not  think  he  knows 
clearly  what  he  is  about.  Now,  ma'am,  just  listen  to 
this ;  here  is  one  great  mistake,  I  am  sure,"  cried  Frank. 
"  The  tutor  says, '  we  are,  indeed,  more  than  three  mill- 
ions of  miles  nearer  the  sun  in  December  than  we  are 
in  June.'  What !  nearer  the  sun  in  winter  than  in  sum- 
mer ?  You  know,  mamma,  that  is  absurd.  "What  an 
ignorant,  foolish  tutor!" 

*'  I  will  not  say,  what  an  ignorant,  foolish  boy,"  said 
Frank's  mother. 

Frank,  abashed,  read  on  for  some  tim^in  silence,  and 
perceived,  by  what  followed,  that  the  poor  tutor  was 
right,  and  that  he  was  wrong ;  but  when  he  came  to 
something  about  the  sun's  apparent  diameter,  and  some 
figures  with  commas  placed  after  them,  he  passed  over 
them,  because  he  could  not  tell  what  they  meant.  And 
in  the  next  page,  *'  What  is  the  use,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"  of  telling  me  that,  '  secondly,  in  summer  the  days  are 
very  long,  and  the  nights  short ;'  I  know  that  without 
his  tiresome  secondly." 

In  short,  Frank  quarrelled  with  every  thing  he  met 
with,  either  as  too  easy  or  too  difficult,  and  when  he 
came  to  the  last  page,  he  declared  that  he  understood 
no  more  than  he  had  done  at  the  first :  and  his  mother 
believed  him,  and  advised  him  to  go  to  bed ;  something, 
too,  she  said  about  conceit  and  presumption,  which 
Frank  did  not  like  to  hear.  He  retired  much  mortified : 
he  was  glad,  however,  that  Mary  had  gone  to  bed,  and 
had  not  heard  his  foolish  criticisms,  or  the  just  rebuke 
which  he  had  received. 

The  next  day,  in  a  fitter  disposition  to  learn,  he  re- 
turned to  the  book ;  and  this  time  he  took  his  mother's 
advice,  and  began  at  the  beginning,  and  read  carefully 
all  that  had  been  marked  for  him.  And  this  time,  when 
he  came  to  any  thing  which  he  did  not  comprehend,  he 
did  not  either  skip  it  or  quarrel  with  it,  but  stopped  to 
inquire  from  his  mother  the  meaning  of  the  words,  or 
to  look  back  for  their  previous  explanation.  He  was 
surprised  to  find  how  much  there  was  in  the  chapters 
which  he  had  missed,  which  he  did  not  know,  or  which 
he  had  not  accurately  understood.    Still  more  surprised 


FRANK.  301 

was  he  at  discovenng  how  necessary  it  was  perfectly 
to  understand  each  part  before  he  could  comprehend  the 
next.  To  make  amends  for  last  night's  impatience,  he 
•was  to-day  resolutely  patient  and  persevering.  But 
this  morning  he  worked  too  hard  and  too  long,  as  Mary 
observed :  he  would  not  stir  from  the  book  all  the  morn- 
ing. His  mother  in  vain  remonstrated,  assuring  him 
that  he  would  tire  himself;  and  she  refused  at  last  to 
hear  him  read  any  more,  or  to  assist  him  with  further 
explanations. 

"  But,  my  dear  mother,"  said  Frank,  "  do  pray  let  me 
finish  this  chapter,  and  then  I  will  go  out  and  play : 
when  once  I  understand  what  is  meant  by  a  degree  1 
will  go  out,  but  not  till  then,  Mary,  if  I  sit  here  till  din- 
ner-time, so  you  need  not  wait  for  me,  my  dear." 

She  did  wait,  however,  and  Avaited  in  vain.  Frank 
read  and  read  on,  and  fatigued  himself  so  excessively 
that  he  grew  quite  stupid,  and  in  that  condition  his 
mother  found  him  when  she  returned  from  her  walk, 
some  time  after  the  dressing-bell  rang. 

"  Mamma,  it  is  not  for  want  of  perseverance  now," 
said  he,  with  a  tremulous  voice  ;  "  I  have  been  at  it  four 
hours.  And  I  am  sure  this  time  it  is  not  from  conceit," 
added  he,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  am  so  stupid,  that  I  am  sure 
1  never  can  understand  all  this  about  summer  and  win- 
ter ;  and  the  engineer  will  come  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row, and  after  all  he  will  find  me  like  the  triangle  man : 
there  are  some  things  I  believe  I  never  can  understand. 
Oh,  mamma !  I  am  exceedingly  stupid." 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  you  are  not  ex- 
ceedingly stupid,  but  you  are  exceedingly  tired:  you 
will  understand  all  these  things  in  time,  if  you  will  not 
read  too  much  at  once." 

"In  time,  mamma!  Do  you  mean  before  the  engi- 
neer comes  T  Consider,  I  have  only  two  days :  here  is 
one  day  quite  lost.  Oh,  mamma !  I  wish  you  had  or- 
dered me  to  go  out,"  said  Frank.  "  You  know  I  could 
not  have  disobeyed  you ;  and  then  1  should  not  have 
lost  the  whole  day." 

His  mother  told  him  that  she  had  thought  it  better  to 
leave  him  to  learn  by  his  own  experience. 

"  It  is  very  difficult  to  stop,"  said  Mary,  "  when  one 
is  eager  to  go  on." 

"  Very  difficult  not  to  do  too  little  or  too  much  at 
once,"  said  Franki 

26 


SOS  FRANK. 

Very  difficult,  his  mother  acknowledged,  not  only  for 
such  a  little  boy  as  Frank,  but  for  grown-up  people. 

"Even  for  you,  mammal  Do  you  ever  feel  this!" 
said  Frank. 

"  Often,  my  dear." 

This  was  some  consolation. 

"  Now  go  and  get  ready  for  dinner ;  we  will  take  a 
pleasant  walk  this  evening  to  refresh  you,  and  to-mor- 
row I  will  read  with  you  for  one  hour,  my  dear  Frank, 
and  I  dare  say  we  shall  find  that  you  are  not  stupid." 

The  next  day  Frank,  with  revived  resolution,  renew- 
ed his  attempts ;  this  time  he  neither  did  too  little  nor 
too  much.  He  gave  his  whole  attention  to  what  he  was 
about  while  he  was  reading,  and  when  he  felt  that  he 
could  attend  no  longer,  he  did  not  go  on  reading  words 
without  understanding  their  meaning ;  but  honestly  con- 
fessed that  he  was  tired,  laid  down  the  book,  and  went 
out  to  refresh  himself  with  bodily  exercise. 

Before  the  two  days  were  at  an  end,  and  before  the 
engineer  returned,  Frank  had  conquered  his  difficulties  ; 
and  with  his  mother's  assistance  he  clearly  understood 
what  he  had  thought  that  he  could  never  comprehend. 

In  the  intervals  of  these  his  serious  studies,  Frank 
had  relieved  his  attention,  and  amused  himself  happily, 
by  acting  with  Mary,  Madera  and  the  English  captain. 
His  black  hat,  great  coat,  and  black  silk  handkerchief, 
did  what  they  could  towards  metamorphosing  Mary  into 
the  English  captain ;  though  Frank  complained  that  she 
never  looked  bluff  enough ;  but  she  thought  he  looked 
very  like  Madera,  when  he  wore  a  large  basket-work 
hat  of  her  making,  after  the  Chinese,  or  rather  the 
great  Loo-choo  fashion,  such  as  the  pattern  in  the  en- 
gravings. 

Madera's  behaviour  on  various  occasions,  especially 
when  he  dined  with  the  captain,  was  acted  to  the  life ; 
and  that  sentence  of  English  which  he  had  learned  to 
pronounce  so  well,  "  Take  mustard  to  him,  Tom,''^  was 
not  forgotten. 

The  second  day  they  acted  the  two  knights,  disputing 
about  the  gold  and  silver  shield ;  but,  for  want  of  a 
benevolent  druid  to  come  by  and  settle  their  differen- 
ces exactly  at  the  right  time,  they  were  obliged  to  end 
the  scene  tragically,  by  the  death  of  both  knights. 

No  riding  for  Frank  this  week,  for  his  father  was  at- 
tending his  public  duty  at  the  assizes.    Ho  was  absent 


■  PRANK. 

from  home  all  day,  and  seldom  returned  till  after  Frank's 
bedtime.  But  the  day  when  the  assizes  were  over  he 
happily  came  back  at  teatime,  and  Frank  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  hearing  him  give  an  account  of  some  entertaining 
trials :  he  was  so  good  as  to  stop  in  his  narrative  sev- 
eral times  to  explain  to  Frank  whatever  he  did  not  un- 
derstand about  empannelling  the  jury,  cross-examining  wit- 
nesses, and  giving  a  verdict.  From  an  entertaining  trial 
in  "  Evenings  at  Home,"  Frank  had  acquired  some  no- 
tion of  these  things ;  but  now  he  was  still  more  inter- 
ested in  hearing  of  what  passed  in  a  real  court  of  jus- 
tice. In  one  of  these  trials  it  happened  that  the  life  of 
a  man  accused  of  a  robbery  was  saved  by  the  clear 
evidence  and  the  character  for  truth  of  a  boy  of  eleven 
years  old.  Frank  and  Mary  could  think  and  talk  of 
nothing  but  this  boy  and  this  trial  the  next  morning, 
till  they  heard  the  sound  of  a  carriage. 
'  "  Oh,  Frank,  it  is  our  friend  the  engineer !"  said  Mary ; 
"  I  hope  you  have  not  forgotten  the  axis  of  the  earth !" 
*  Frank's  attention  had  been  turned  so  completely  to 
the  trial,  that  he  was  afraid  he  had  forgotten  all  the  sea- 
sons and  their  change.  No — there  is  no  danger  that 
what  has  been  once  thoroughly  understood  and  well 
learned,  should  be  soon  forgotten.  Though  Frank's  at- 
tention had  been  turned  to  new  and  interesting  things, 
yet  he  found  that  he  could  easily  recall  to  his  mind  what 
ne  had  learned ;  he  knew  the  reasons  for  each  step  as 
he  went  on,  and  each  came  to  his  recollection  in  proper 
time  and  order. 

His  friend  the  engineer  was  satisfied. 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  said  he, "  1  am  at  your  service.  If 
there  is  any  thing  that  you  wish  to  know  which  I  can 
explain  to  you,  I  will.  Or,  if  there  is  any  thing  that  I 
can  do  for  you,  ask,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  assist  you." 

Frank  thought  for  an  instant,  and  the  colour  came  into 
his  face ;  Mary  wondered  what  he  was  going  to  ask. 

"  Sir,  there  is  one  thing  you  could  do  for  me,"  said 
Frank,  "  that  I  should  like  very  much.  Would  you  be  so 
good  as  to  walk  with  us  this  morning,  or  this  evening, 
or  whenever  you  have  time,  to  see  a  boy  who  is  very 
ingenious ;  a  gardener's  son,  who  is  making  a  sundial, 
and  who  is  in  a  great  difficulty  about  it :  and  you  could 
help  him,  I  dare  say  ;  would  you  be  so  good  V 

"  And  would  you  rather  that  I  should  do  this  for  the 
gardener's  son  than  any  thing  for  yourself]" 


804  PRANK.  ( 

"  Much  rather,"  said  Frank. 

"  Then  I  will  do  this  first,  and  you  shall  afterward  finrf 
out  something  that  I  can  do  for  you,"  said  the  engineer. 

All  approved  of  Frank's  request ;  Mary  especi^y  re- 
joiced, for  she  had  never  been  at  the  gardener's  with 
the  greeji  gate  since  he  had  had  his  new  hothouse. 

The  walk  was  pleasanter  than  usual  to  Frank,  though 
it  was  not  new :  perhaps  because  he  was  pleased  with 
the  consciousness  that  he  was  doing  what  was  good-na- 
tured. The  gardener's  boy  was  at  work  at  his  sundial 
when  they  arrived,  with  a  book  open  beside  him,  and 
a  print  of  a  sundial,  marked  with  many  crosslines, 
squares,  letters,  and  figures.  Frank  read  over  the  boy's 
shoulder,  "  New  geometrical  method  of  constructing  sun- 
dials .•"  and  saw  the  pages  full  of  what  he  could  not  un- 
derstand ;  but  he  felt  happy  in  showing  the  engineer 
how  much  this  boy  knew  ;  and  Frank  hoped  that  he 
should  in  time  know  as  much;  meanwhile,  he  stood  by 
rejoicing  that  the  engineer  seemed  to  like  Andrew, 
whose  modesty,  indeed,  pleased  him  as  much  as  his 
industry  and  ingenuity. 

The  engineer  kindly  showed  the  boy  where  he  had 
been  wrong  in  his  attempts  at  constructing  his  sundial, 
and  put  him  in  the  way  to  execute  it  rightly. 

Frank  ran  for  some  copies  of  maps  which  he  had 
seen  of  Andrew's  drawing ;  and  when  he  had  examined 
them,  the  engineer  said,  "  if  this  young  lad  will  apply 
steadily  for  another  year,  and  improve  himself  in  cer- 
tain things  which  I  shall  point  out,  I  will  employ  him 
as  one  of  my  surveyors." 

Andrew's  eyes  sparkled  with  joy ;  and  the  old  garden- 
er, who  knew  what  a  great  advantage  this  would  be  to 
his  son,  thanked  the  engineer  with  a  bow  such  as  Frank 
had  never  seen  him  make  before. 

.    "My  dear  Frank,"  whispered  Mary,  "how  glad  you 
must  be  that  you  asked  the  engineer  to  come  here !'' 

"  Glad  I  I  never  was  so  glad  in  ray  life,"  said  Frank. 
He  afterward  said  to  Mary, 

"  Do  you  know,  I  really  think  I  felt  happier  in  show- 
ing that  poor  boy's  drawings  and  maps,  than  if  I  had 
done  them  all  myself,  and  had  been  ever  so  much 
praised  for  them." 

It  may  have  been  observed  that  Frank  loved  praise, 
perhaps  too  much.  But  now,  when  he  had  an  opportu- 
iiity  of  feeling  the  pleasure  of  benevolence,  he  discover 


PRANK. 


ed  how  much  greater  it  is  than  the  selfish  triumph  of 
vanity  . 


"  Feed  him  with  apricoto  and  dewberries, 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs,  and  mulberries." 

Frank  liked  apricots,  grapes,  figs,  mulberries,  and 
dewberries  too ;  if,  as  the  learned  suppose,  dewberries 
must  here  mean  raspberries.  Fine  Antwerp  raspberries 
tlie  gardener  of  the  green  gate  possessed,  and  all  that  he 
had  was  this  evening  eagerly  offered  to  his  guests,  to 
whom,  on  his  son  Andrew's  account,  he  felt  most  grate- 
ful :  he  first  presented,  or  was  going  to  present,  to  Frank 
his  finest  peach,  his  largest,  ripest  violet  peach,  which 
is,  as  he  said,  esteemed  by  many  the  queen  of  fruits. 
Frank,  however,  drew  back  a  little  behind  Mary,  as  he 
saw  the  gardener's  hand  and  the  queen  of  fruits  moving 
towards  him,  and  the  peach  was  offered  to  Mary. 

"  1  wish  you  would  show  her,"  said  Frank,  "  all  that 
you  showed  me  when  I  was  here  before,  and  tell  her 
every  thing  you  can  that  is  curious  and  entertaining." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  the  gardener.  "  Andrew,  my 
boy,  bring  the  best  basket  after  us,  for  cherries  may 
stain  the  young  lady's  white  frock.  But  she  must  have 
some  of  my  cherries." 

Andrew  followed  with  the  basket,  which  was  soon 
filled  with  fruits  from  all  parts  of  the  world ;  and  as 
each  was  put  into  the  basket,  Mary  was  asked  if  she 
knew  from  what  country  it  originally  came.  Some  she 
knew,  and  some  she  was  told,  and  some  she  remember- 
ed, and  some  she  had  forgotten.  Grapes,  she  believed, 
came  from  France  and  Italy,  peaches  and  nectarines 
from  Persia. 

"  Nectarines,"  as  the  learned  gardener  added,  "  owe 
their  name  to  nectar,  which  Master  Frank  no  doubt 
knows  was  the  poetical  drink  of  the  gods." 

Our  friend  the  gardener,  in  the  joy  and  gratitude  of 
his  heart,  was  lavish  of  his  learning,  which  he  thought 
more  valuable  than  fruit  or  flower.  With  every  flower 
he  gathered  and  presented  to  her  he  gave  the  Latin 
name,  seldom  the  English,  till  particularly  inquired  for. 
To  most  of  these  Latin  names  he  added,  in  the  same 
language,  the  names  of  the  family,  class,  and  genus  to 
which  each  individual  properly  belonged. 
25* 


-S06  FRANK. 

When  he  came  to  his  geraniums,  and  was  set  a-going 
by  Mary  asking  him  the  name  of  one  with  large  bright 
scarlet  flowers,  he  could  not  leave  them  till  he  had  in- 
troduced to  her  twenty-four  geraniums,  or  pellargo- 
niums,  as  he  called  them.  The  twenty-four  names  of 
the  pellargoniums  went  in  at  one  of  Mary's  little  ears 
and  out  at  the  other ;  and  she  looked,  as  Frank  said, 
quite  dunced,  his  favourite  and  expressive  word  for  stu- 
pified.  But  her  countenance  brightened,  and  became 
intelligent  and  grateful,  whenever  he  told  any  circum- 
stance worth  knowing  ;  so  that  the  gardener,  observing 
that  his  learning  was  thrown  away  upon  her,  and  that 
his  sense  was  valued,  soon  spared  her  as  many  as  he 
could  prevail  upon  himself  to  omit  of  his  polysyllabic 
names,  and  told  her  many  curious  and  useful  facts.  For 
instance  how  she  might  keep  geraniums  alive  through 
the  winter,  without  having  them  in  a  conservatory.  He 
bid  her  take  them  out  of  the  earth  in  autumn,  when  the 
leaves  begin  to  fall,  and  bury  them  in  sand  in  a  house, 
as  carrots  are  preserved,  where  they  must  remain  till 
the  first  warm  weather  in  spring.  Leaf  buds  will  be 
seen  on  them  when  they  are  taken  out  of  the  sand,  and 
these  will  put  forth  immediately,  if  the  geraniums  are 
then  planted  in  a  sheltered  situation. 

She  observed  some  fine  July-flowers,  which  the  gar- 
dener said  had  lived  in  the  open  air  all  the  last  winter, 
though  it  had  been  a  severe  season ;  and  she  asked  if 
these  had  been  kept  in  sand.  No,  these  had  been  pre- 
served by  another  method :  he  had  formerly  always 
thought  it  necessary  to  keep  them  in  a  house ;  but  had 
learned  that,  by  planting  them  near  evergreens,  they 
lived,  sheltered  by  these  good  warm  nurses,  as  he  called 
them. 

Some  believe  that  the  evergreens  emit  or  send  out 
warmth ;  others  doubt  this,  and  say  that  they  only 
shelter  the  plants  near  them.  How  this  might  be,  the 
gardener  could  not  pretend  to  decide  as  yet ;  but  he  had 
read  an  account,  he  said,  of  many  experiments  tried  in 
this  way,  by  a  gentleman  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  a  Mr. 
Templeton,  who  in  this  manner  succeeded  in  keeping 
several  tender  plants  out  in  winter,  and  in  accustoming 
to  our  climate  many  which  came  from  warmer  coun- 
tries. 

Mary  was  interested  in  listening  to  this,  because  she 
had  some  fine  July-flowers,  which  she  wished  to  keep 


FRANK.  307 

alive  all  the  winter,  and  she  resolved  that  she  also 
would  try  this  experiment. 

After  having  completed  her  progress  through  the 
gr€kenhouse,  hothouse,  flower-garden,  and  shrubbery, 
Mary  thought  there  was  nothing  more  to  see ;  but  the 
gardener  asked  if  she  would  like  to  look  at  his  apiary. 
Mary  hesitated :  she  answered, 

"  If  there  are  only  two  or  three  I  shall  like  it ;  but  if 
there  are  a  great  many  I  would  rather  not." 

The  gardener  replied  that  there  were  a  great  many 
to  be  sure,  but  that  there  was  no  danger;  that  they 
would  not  do  her  any  harm  if  she  would  stand  quietly. 

"  Will  they  make  a  great  chattering  l"  said  Mary. 

"  A  great  buzzing  they  will  make,  to  be  sure,"  said  the 
gardener ;  "  but  there  is  no  danger  of  their  stinging 
you." 

"  Stinging  me !"  repeated  Mary,  looking  very  much 
puzzled :  "  how  could  they  sting  me  ?" 

Frank,  who  guessed  her  mistake,  asked  what  sort  of 
animal  she  expected  to  see  in  an  apiary.  ,   , ,,  ■  ,...[. 

"  I  expect,"  said  Mary,  "to  see  apes." 

'•  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it,"  cried  Frank,  laughing  tri- 
umphantly ;  but  recollecting  former  times,  and  fagots 
and  maggots,  he  checked  himself,  and  only  said  gravely. 
"  not  apes,  my  dear,  but  bees ;  from  apis,  Latin  for  a 
bee." 

Mary  went  with  great  eagerness  to  look  at  the  apiary, 
now  she  understood  what  she  was  to  see. 

She  asked  what  flow  ers  bees  love  best,  as  she  saw 
several  kinds  of  herbs  and  flowers  near  the  hives. 

The  gardener  mentioned  rosemary  and  thyme,  which 
have  been  famed  as  favourites  of  the  bees  for  many 
ages.  "  Ever  since  the  days  of  Virgil,  sir,  you  know, ' 
said  he,  turning  to  Frank's  father,  and  quoting  some 
lines  from  one  of  the  Georgics.  Frank  wished  that  he 
could  have  understood  them. 

"  Now  I  know  one  reason  why  you  were  so  eagerly 
reading  the  Georgics  the  other  day,"  thought  Frank. 

Mary  was  now  examining  with  dehght  a  glass  bee- 
hive. The  gardener  begged  leave  to  send  it  home  for 
her;  and  he  gave  much  good  advice,  both  as  to  the 
choice  of  the  flowers  she  should  keep  near  them,  and 
those  which  she  should  never  allow  to  be  in  their  neigh- 
bourhood. Yew  and  box  he  bid  her  avoid.  And  again 
turniug  tg  the  gentleman,  the  learned  gardener  obser- 


808  PRANK. 

ved,  fliat  "  Virgil  warns  us  of  the  poisonous  nature  of 
honey  made  from  the  yew  or  box.  It  is  disputed  which 
the  poet  meant;  but,  for  his  part,  he  was  inclined  to 
believe  it  must  be  box,  because  he  had,  he  said,  heard 
from  a  traveller,  who  had  lately  visited  Corsica,  that  to 
this  day  the  bees  are  very  fond  of  the  flowers  of  the 
box,  which  abounds  there,  and  the  honey  they  make 
from  it  is  poisonous." 

Mary,  who  had  never  before  heard  that  honey  could 
be  poisonous,  listened  with  much  curiosity,  and  some 
alarm,  to  all  the  gardener  said. 

He  pointed  out  to  Mary  a  shrub  with  beautiful  flowers, 
one  of  the  kalmias,  which  he  had  this  evening  intro- 
duced to  her,  but  whose  name  she  could  not  recollect. 
He  told  her  that  it  is  said  that  bees  extract  poisonous 
honey  from  the  flowers  of  this  shrub  in  parts  of  North 
America,  where  it  abounds. 

This  fact  was  discovered  some  years  ago  by  a  party 
of  twenty-five  young  Americans,  who,  having  observed 
that  the  bees  loved  this  flower  very  much,  carried  their 
beehives  into  a  savanna,  a  large  damp  meadow,  in 
which  there  were  such  quantities  of  this  beautiful  kal- 
mia,  that  it  was  described  as  quite  painted  with  its 
flowers.  The  bees  flew  to  them  eagerly,  and  their 
honey  increased  prodigiously ;  but  when  the  young  bee- 
men  eat  of  it,  they  found  that  it  intoxicated  them  and 
made  them  sick,  and  they  feared  that  it  would  kiU  them 
if  they  ate  more  of  it. 

That  they  might  not  lose  all  their  labour  and  their 
honey,  they  made  it  into  a  kind  of  drink  called  metheg- 
lin,  or  mead ;  but  still  this  was  poisonous,  and  they 
were  obliged  to  give  it  up,  and  to  remove  their  bee- 
hives to  another  place,  far  away  from  the  beautiful  flow- 
ers of  the  kalmia,  of  which  the  bees  were  so  fond. 

At  the  end  of  this  story,  Mary,  turning  to  Frank,  said 
she  thought  she  had  heard  that  what  is  called  instinct 
prevents  animals  from  eating  what  is  poisonous  or  bad 
for  them;  but  that  this  story  of  the  American  bees 
proved  that  animals  do  sometimes  eat  what  is  poison- 
ous, and  therefore  their  instinct  is  not  always  in  the 
right. 

Frank  was  not  entirely  convinced  by  Mary's  reason- 
ing. He  said  "  that  he  thought  the  story,  if  it  were 
ever  so  true,  proved  only  that  bees  did  not  know  what 
would  make  their  honey  poisonous  to  man.    It  was  not 


FRANK.  ,^<^ 

said  or  proved  that  their  honey,  after  eating  of  these 
flowers,  was  poisonous  to  the  bees  themselves — was  it  V 
said  Frank,  appealing  to  the  gardener. 

He  did  not  know.  Frank's  father  was  glad  to  hear 
him  reason  so  well. 

While  they  were  speaking,  Mary  observed  that  several 
bees  settled  upon  the  gardener's  arm,  and  that  he  and 
they  seemed  to  be  well  acquainted.  He  told  her  that 
he  knew  a  woman  who  had  become  so  intimate  with 
bees,  and  had  obtained  such  influence  over  them,  that 
they  would  obey  her  call,  and  come  or  go  at  her  bidding. 
Her  power  over  them  was  so  extraordinary  that  she 
had  made  it  a  public  show.  The  gardener  said  that  he 
and  many  other  people  had  seen  her  with  swarms  of 
bees  which  settled  on  her  arm  so  thick  that  they  looked 
like  a  muff;  and  they  would  be  still  or  fly,  as  she  desired, 
come  when  they  were  called,  and  do  as  they  were  bid- 
den ;  he  would  not  say  "  shut  the  door  after  them,"  but 
certainly  return  to  their  hive  when  she  ordered  them. 

The  gardener,  seeing  Mary  so  much  interested  on 
this  subject,  told  her  that  she  might  find  a  great  many 
entertaining  anecdotes  and  curious  facts  concerning 
bees,  in  a  book  written  by  a  blind  gentleman  of  Geneva, 
Mr.  Huber,  who  has  been  so  kindly  assisted  by  his 
family,  and  who  has  so  well  directed  their  observations, 
that  he  has  seen  more,  at  least  acquired  more  knowl- 
edge, by  the  sight  of  others,  than  most  people  ever  ac- 
quire by  their  own  eyes.  Frank's  mother  said  she  had 
the  book,  and  that  she  would  look  out  for  Mary  such 
parts  as  would  suit  her. 

It  was  now  necessary  to  take  leave ;  and  Mary  had 
by  this  time  a  nosegay  almost  as  large  as  herself,  and 
in  her  hat  a  plume  of  the  feathery  flower  of  the  maize 
or  Indian  corn,  high  as  herself,  and  higher ;  and  Frank 
had  a  basket  of  fruit  that  he  begged  to  carry  home,  and 
a  book  which  he  had  borrowed  from  Andrew,  and  which, 
he  said,  he  would  rather  have  for  his  share  than  all  the 
flowers  and  fruit  put  together, 

It  should  be  observed,  that  at  the  time  of  making  this 
declaration,  Frank  had  eaten  as  much  fruit  as  he  could 
conveniently ;  and  as  to  flowers,  he  never  knew  what 
to  do  with  them,  except  to  give  them  to  his  mother  or 
Mary.  As  they  walked  home,  Frank  and  Mary  talked 
of  the  number  of  new  things  which  they  had  seen  this 
evening;  and  she  finished  by  observing  that  they  all 


Bib  PRANK. 

owed  the  walk  to  Frank's  good  choice  and  good-na* 
ture. 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "what  an  extraordinarily  learned 

fierson  the  gardener  is,  for  a  man  in  his  rank  of  life ! 
s  not  this  very  uncommon  ?" 
"  Not  very  uncommon  in  the  country  from  which  he 
comes,"  said  the  engineer.    "  He  comes  from  Scotland ; 
and  there  it  is  happily  the  custom  to  give  to  people  in 
his  class  of  life  a  good  education." 


For  this  evening  there  had  been  amusement  enough ; 
the  engineer,  therefore,  did  not  ask  Frank  for  his  second 
request  till  the  next  evening  at  tea-time  ;  then,  when  he 
had  finished  all  his  business,  as  he  said,  for  that  day,  he 
turned  to  Frank,  and  said, 

"  Now,  my  little  /riend,  what  can  I  do  for  you  I  what 
is  your  second  request  V 

"  Sir,"  said  Frank,  "  there  are  some  wonderful  things, 
very  long  sticks  with  knobs  at  the  end  of  them,  which 
you  desired  should  be  locked  up  very  carefully :  you 
said  that  they  might  do  mischief  if  they  were  not  taken 
care  of :  and  when  I  asked  you  what  they  were,  you 
said  to  me  in  a  great  hurry,  as  you  were  going  by,  some 
very  odd  names,  which  1  thought  were  mistakes,  for 
you  said  one  was  a  sort  of  flower,  and  the  other  a  sort 
of  wheel — I  cannot  recollect  the  names  ;  would  you  tell 
them  to  me  again,  and  tell  me  what  they  are  1" 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  the  engineer,  "  I  said  rockets, 
and  a  Catharine- wheel." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Frank,  "  those  were  the  very  names ; 
but  how  can  those  sticks  be  wheels  or  flowers  ?" 

The  engineer  began  to  explain  to  him  that  these  are 
names  which  are  given  to  a  sort  of  fireworks.  At  the 
sound  of  the  word  fireworks  Mary  and  Frank  both  ex- 
claimed, 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  fireworks!" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Frank,  "  may  I  ask,  may  this  be  my 
second  request,  that  you  would  show  us  some  fire- 
works 1" 

His  friend,  smiling,  said  that  he  was  happy  to  oblige 
him ;  and  that  he  would  show  him  two  rockets  and  a 
Catharine-wheel. 

The  key  of  the  closet  was  brought  to  get  the  rockets, 


FRANK.  3il 

and  a  lantern  being  procured,  they  all  went  out  Upon 
the  open  grass-plot,  before  the  door,  to  let  off  the  fire- 
works. The  engineer  placed  Frank  and  Mary  so  that 
they  could  see  well. 

He  told  Frank  that  what  he  called  the  knobs  at  the 
top  of  the  sticks,  were  cases  of  stiff  paper,  filled  with  a 
preparation  of  gunpowder ;  and  that  when  he  should 
hold  a  candle  to  the  paper,  it  would  set  fire  to  the  gun- 
powder, which,  when  it  blew  up,  would  carry  the  stick  to 
a  considerable  height  in  the  air :  the  rest  they  would 
see. 

Mary  was  so  much  startled  by  the  first  burst  of  fire, 
that  she  shut  her  eyes,  and  did  not  see  the  course  of  the 
rocket.  It  was  very  well  for  her  that  the  engineer  had 
another,  which  she  did  look  at,  and  liked  very  much : 
high  in  air  it  exploded  and  blazed  like  a  vast  star  of  fire, 
from  which  little  stars  broke  and  fell,  scattering  them- 
selves all  round,  lasting  several  seconds  of  time.  The 
Catharine  wheel  was  still  more  beautiful,  whirling  round 
and  round  like  a  wheel  on  fire.  They  were  delighted 
with  the  fireworks,  which  more  than  equalled  their  ex- 
pectations. Frank  said  that  he  should  like  to  make 
some  for  himself,  if  his  father  would  be  so  good  as  to 
give  him  some  gunpowder.  But  his  father  said  that  he 
could  not  trust  him  with  gunpowder,  and  enjoined  him 
never  to  attempt  to  play  with  it,  or  to  set  it  on  fire. 

Frank  was,  he  said,  very  sorry  that  this  was  to  be  the 
last  day  of  the  engineer.  Frank  had  shown  some  in- 
stances of  ingenuity  and  ready  recollection  of  his  knowl- 
edge, with  which  he  had  been  much  pleased.  He  re- 
peated some  of  these  to  Frank's  mother,  who  listened 
with  pleasure,  mixed  with  some  degree  of  apprehen- 
sion, that  by  such  praise  Frank  would  be  too  much  ela- 
ted. She  knew  his  foible  of  vanity,  and  so  did  he,  and 
had  been  lately  on  his  guard  against  it.  But  this  was 
too  strong  for  him  ;  his  spirits  were  high,  and  he  wanted 
to  raise  his  friend's  opinion  of  him,  by  displaying  at  once 
his  whole  stock  of  learning.  It  happened  to  be  a  fine 
starlight  night :  he  called  everybody  to  look  at  the  stars, 
on  purpose  that  he  might  talk  of  them ;  for  Frank  had 
read  Sanford  and  Merton,  and  had  learned  at  least  as 
much  as  Tommy  Merton.  He  knew  the  Greater  Bear 
and  the  Lesser,  and  the  Pole-star,  and  Orion,  and  Lyra ; 
and,  not  aware  how  much  more  there  is  to  be  known, 
imagined  that  he  was  very  near  being  a  great  astronomer. 


%lfe 


FRANK. 


The  engineer  had  brought  out  'a  telescope,  and  waa 
fixing  it  for  him,  that  he  might  show  him  the  planet  Sa- 
turn and  its  ring ;  but  Frank  never  looked  at  it,  but  was 
intent  only  on  showing  his  little  stock  of  learning,  and 
interrupting  whatever  the  engineer  was  saying  ;  he  be- 
gan counting  to  Mary  all  the  stars,  whose  names  he  had 
lately  learned,  talking  of  them  as  if  they  were  all  his 
own  familiar  acquaintance,  and  had  scarcely  been  heard 
of  by  anybody  else  in  the  world.  He  asked  Mary  if 
she  knew  that  there  was  a  great  circle  in  the  heavens 
called  the  ecliptic,  and  wondered  that  she  could  not 
name  all  the  signs  of  the  zodiac ;  he  named  them  all  as 
fast  as  possible.  He  talked  on,  hoping  that  everybody 
was  admiring  him ;  but  no  applause  ensued  :  his  friend 
the  engineer  was  too  good  a  friend  to  encourage  him  in 
conceit.  When  at  last  he  stopped,  there  was  a  mortify- 
ing silence.  Mary  felt  what  was  thought  of  Frank ;  she 
was  ashamed  for  him :  and  now  he  saw  this,  he  per- 
ceived that  his  father  and  mother  were  ashamed  of  him. 
He  grew  very  hot, all  over,  and  stood  quite  still  and 
abashed,  pinching  his  httle  finger  very  hard  to  relieve 
the  pain  of  his  mind.  His  father  soon  called  to  him, 
and  kindly  lowered  the  telescope  for  him  to  look  at  Sa- 
turn's ring — this  was  a  humane  relief. 

Mary  asked  where  that  circle  in  the  heavens  called 
the  ecliptic  was  to  be  seen  1 

The  engineer  told  her  that  there  was  no  such  circle  in 
reality,  but  that  it  was  a  supposed  circle,  by  which  the 
heavens  are  divided. 

Mary  again  asked  of  what  use  it  was  to  suppose  that 
there  is  this  circle  1 

The  engineer  turned  to  Frank,  and  asked  him  if  he 
knew? 

Frank  answered  very  humbly  that  he  did  not. 

The  engineer  asked  him  if  he  knew,  in  general,  of 
what  use  astronomy,  or  the  knowledge  of  the  stars  and 
of  their  motions,  can  be  to  human  creatures  1 

Frank  had  a  general  idea  that  astronomy  was  of  use, 
but  he  did  not  know  of  what  use.  He  knew  that  Harry 
Sandford  found  his  way  out  of  the  moor  by  the  help  of 
the  pole  star ;  but  how,  he  could  not  well  tell :  and  he 
believed  that  people  know  whereabouts  they  are  at  sea 
by  looking  at  the  stars,  by  the  north  pole,  and  the  com- 
pass.   The  degrees  of  latitude  on  the  earth,  he  was  al 


FRANK.  '^t^ 

most  certain,  were  connected  with  the  great  circle  called 
the  ecliptic,  but  he  did  not  know  how. 

Here  Frank  felt  so  much  puzzled,  and  so  conscious 
of  his  own  ignorance,  that  he  stopped  short,  saying,  "  I 
cannot  explain  myself — for  I  do  not  understand  any  thing 
about  these  things  distinctly  :  and  I  am  sorry,  sir,"  ad- 
ded he,  "that  I  began  to  talk  about  the  ecliptic  to  Mary, 
and  talk  so  conceitedly." 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  the  engineer,  "  you  are  a  very 
candid  boy ;  and  as  to  your  little  fits  of  vanity,  those 
will  go  off  when  you  know  more ;  and  that  you  will 
know  more  I  am  convinced,  because  you  show  such  a 
desire  to  improve  yourself.  You  worked  very  hard  to 
make  yourself  master  of  summer  and  winter,  and  you 
succeeded.  I  will  mark  for  you  some  more  passages  in 
your  little  book  of  Scientific  Dialogues,  and  in  some 
other  books,  which  I  will  leave  with  you  ;  and  if  you  read 
these  carefully,  you  will,  I  hope,  before  I  see  you  again, 
comprehend  clearly  what  you  now  wish  to  learn.  You 
will  imderstand  exactly  the  use  of  dividing  into  degrees 
that  imaginary  circle  in  the  heavens  called  the  ecliptic, 
and  you  will  learn  of  what  use  astronomy  and  trigonom- 
etry are  to  man,  in  sailing  upon  the  sea,  and  in  measur- 
ing the  earth." 

"  This  is  a  great  deal  to  learn,"  said  Mary :  "  will 
Frank  indeed  be  able  to  learn  all  this  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  he  will,  if  he  goes  on  little  by  little,  and 
steadily ;  and  if  he  reads  with  his  kind  mother,  who  is 
ready  to  assist  him  in  all  difficulties,  and  who  will  not 
let  him  go  on  too  fast." 

"  I  will  begin,"  said  Frank,  "  to-morrow,  sir,  as  you 
shall  see." 

"  I  hope  you  will,  though  I  shall  not  see  it,"  said  the 
engineer,  "  for  I  am  obliged  to  go  away  very  early  in  the 
morning." 

Frank  and  Mary  were  sorry,  for  they  were  very  fond 
of  liim.  Sensible  children  always  love  those  who  do 
not  flatter  them  :  who  open  to  them  new  views  of 
knowledge,  and  who  excite  them  continually  to  im- 
prove. 

While  they  were  talking,  the  servant  brought  in  let- 
ters. "  Here,  sir,"  cried  Frank,  running  to  the  engineer 
with  his  letters,  "  here  are  letters  for  you.  Perhaps 
these  may  bring  good  news  for  us,  and  that  you  may 
find  you  can  stay  one  other  day." 
O  27 


314  FRANK. 

No,  there  was  nothing  in  the  letters  which  changed 
his  determination  as  to  going  away ;  but  there  was  some- 
thing about  his  son  Lewis,  which  gave  him  pleasure. 

"  1  must  show  this  to  you,  my  dear  madam,"  said  he, 
turning  to  Frank's  mother :  and  he  looivcd  very  happy 
as  he  pointed  to  the  following  passage  in  the  letter, 
which  he  laid  down  before  her : 

"  We  have  your  Lewis  with  us ;  his  holydays  began 
last  Monday :  and  glad  we  are  to  have  him,  if  you  were 
out  of  the  question ;  for  a  very  generous,  good-tempered, 
obliging  boy  he  is,  and  ever  on  the  watch  for  informa- 
tion: a  most  hopeful  disposition." 

"  He  must  be  very  like  Frank,"  thought  Mary. 

The  other  letter  was  from  the  master  of  the  school  at 
which  Lewis  was.     It  concluded  thus : — 

"  Your  son  Lewis  did  admirably  at  our  last  examina- 
tions. If  his  brother  treads  in  his  footsteps,  he  cannot 
fail  to  be  approved  by  his  masters,  and  loved  by  his 
companions." 

"  Oh !"  thought  Frank,  "  how  happy  I  shall  be  if  my 
father  ever  has  such  a  letter  about  me  after  I  go  to 
school." 

Frank's  father  and  mother  asked  the  engineer  to  bring 
his  son  Lewis  with  him  the  next  time  he  should  come. 

He  promised  that  he  would,  for  he  said  that  he  should 
be  glad  that  his  son  and  Frank  should  become  acquaint- 
ed, and  he  hoped  that  they  would  also  become  friends. 


"  Here  is  mamma,  alone !  and  settled  at  her  tambour- 
frame,  Mary  !  how  happy  !"  cried  Frank.  "  Now  we 
can  talk  to  her  about  it  as  much  as  we  please.  Mamma, 
may  I  read  you  this  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  welcome,  my  dear,  while  I  am  working ;  but 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  soon  have  done.  What  is  the  book, 
my  dearV 

"  Mamma,  it  is  a  short  account  of  the  life  of  the  au- 
thor." 

"  What  author,  Frank  1" 

"  I  do  not  know  his  name,  ma'am,  it  says  only  the 
author  of  this  book  ]" 

"  What  book,  my  dearl" 

"  The  book  I  brought  home  the  other  night  from  the 
gardener's  ;  the  book  from  which  his  son  learned  how  to 


JfRANK.  BW 

make  the  sundial.     Oh,  ma'am,  do  not  look  into  that 
part,  that  is  too  difficult." 

"  We  cannot  understand  that,"  said  Mary,  "  that  is 
about  '  tables  of  falling  bodies,''  and  terrible  things.  But 
it  is  this  '  Short  Account  of  the  Life  of  the  Author'  which 
Frank  is  going  to  read  to  you,  ma'am." 

"  Mamma,  1  will  tell  you  part,  and  read  only  what  I 
like  best,"  said  Frank.  "  The  beginning  tells  only  that 
the  man  was  born  somewhere,  I  forget  where." 

"  He  was  born  in  a  low  station,  I  know,"  said  Mary; 
•'  but  I  do  not  recollect  exactly  where." 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  continued  Frank ;  "  but  you 
must  know  that  he  was  at  first  very  poor." 

"  He  was  originally  a  peasant-boy,  mamma,  and  you 
shall  hear  all  that  he  did." 

'  "  But  first  tell  me  his  name,"  said  Frank's  mother. 
^  "  His  name,  ma'am ;  that  1  really  do  not  know,"  said 
Frank. 

"  What,  not  know  the  name  of  the  man  whose  life 
you  have  been  reading !" 

"  No,  mamma,  he  never  once  tells  his  name  in  his 
whole  life,"  said  Frank.  "  You  may  look  it  over  your- 
self, mamma,  every  page.    I  have  looked  it  over  twice." 

"  And  I  too,"  said  Mary,  "  and  I  do  not  think  you  will 
find  it.  It  does  not  tell  even  the  name  of  his  father  or 
mother." 

*'  Pray  look  and  try  if  you  can  find  it,  mamma,"  said 
Frank. 

His  mother  looked  at  the  title-page,  and  pointed  to 
the  name  of  the  author — James  Ferguson. 

"  You  have  found  it,  mamma,  after  all !  I  thought  I 
had  looked  thoroughly ;  but  I  did  not  begin  at  the  very 
beginning,  you  will  say ;  next  time  I  really  will  look 
even  at  the  title-page.     But  now  let  me  go  on. 

"  This  James  Ferguson's  father  was  very  poor,  and 
had  a  large  family,  and  he  was  obliged  to  work  all  day ; 
but '  whenever  he  had  any  time,'  he  taught  some  of  his 
children  to  read  and  write.  He  had  not  leisure,  how- 
ever, at  first,  to  teach  James,  and  James  learned  by  lis- 
tening while  his  father  was  teaching  his  elder  brother 
to  read  his  catechism." 

"  Now  read  on  here,  Frank,"  said  Mary,  "  lest  you 
should  forget  to  tell  about  the  old  woman." 

Frank  read  what  follows  from  Ferguson's  life. 

*' '  Ashamed  to  ask  my  father  to  instruct  me,  I  usedi 
0  ? 


;316  FRANK. 

when  he  and  my  brother  were  abroad,  to  take  the  cate* 
chism  and  study  the  lesson  which  he  had  been  teaching 
my  brother ;  and  when  any  difficulty  occurred,  I  went 
to  a  neighbouring  old  woman,  who  gave  me  such  help 
as  enabled  me  to  read  tolerably  well  before  my  father 
had  thought  of  teaching  me.' " 

"  Dear,  good  old  woman !"  said  Mary. 

" '  Some  time  after  he  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find 
me  reading  by  myself;  he  thereupon  gave  me  farther 
instruction,  and  also  taught  me  to  write.' 

"  I  will  miss  the  grammar  school,"  said  Frank,  "for  I 
am  sure  that  will  not  interest  you ;  but  I  must  go  on 
here. 

" '  My  taste  for  mechanics  arose  from  an  odd  acci- 
dent. When  about  seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  a  part 
of  the  roof  of  the  house  being  decayed,  my  father,  de- 
sirous of  mending  it,  applied  a  lever  to  raise  it  to  its 
former  situation ;  and  to  my  great  astonishment  I  saw 
him  lift  up  the  ponderous  roof  as  if  it  had  been  a  small 
weight.  I  attributed  this  at  first  to  a  degree  of  strength, 
that  excited  my  terror  as  well  as  wonder ;  but  thinking 
farther  of  the  matter,  I  recollected  that  he  had  applied 
his  strength  to  that  end  of  the  lever  which  was  farthest 
from  the  prop ;  and  finding  on  inquiry  that  this  was  the 
means  by  which  the  seeming  wonder  was  affected,  I 
began  making  levers,  which  I  then  called  bars.'  " 

Frank's  father  now  came  into  the  room  to  look  for 
some  papers,  and  stood  still  to  listen  to  what  they  wer9 
reading. 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "  I  understand  all  this  as  well  as 
the  man  did ;  because  we  read  a  great  while  ago  to 
mamma,  in  Sandford  and  Merton,  the  account  of  the 
boys'  using  the  lever  to  move  the  great  snowball,  which 
they  could  not  roll  without  it.  And  that  very  day  you 
were  so  good,  papa,  as  to  call  me  to  look  at  one  of  the 
workmen,  who  was  using  a  lever  to  move  a  heavy  root 
of  a  tree.  How  pleasant  it  is  to  find  in  a  book  what 
puts  us  in  mind  of  things  we  have  seen  and  heard,  and 
quite  understand." 

"Very  true,"  said  Mary;  "but  now  will  you  go  on 
with  the  book,  Frank,  because  I  want  to  come  to  the 
little  knife,  and  then  to  the  wooden  watch." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  said  Frank,  "  don't  tell  all  before- 
hand.    Let  me  tell  of  the  stars  first. 

" '  I  was  rather  too  young  and  weak  for  hard  labour; 


FRANK.  317 

my  father  put  me  out  to  a  neighbour  to  keep  sheep, 
which  I  continued  to  do  for  some  years,  and  in  that 
time  I  began  to  study  the  stars  in  the  night.' 

"  How  happy  he  must  have  been !"  said  Frank. 

" '  In  the  daytime  I  amused  myself  by  making  mod- 
els of  mills,  spinning-wheels,  and  such  other  things  as 
I  happened  to  see.' " 

"  I  wish,  Frank,  that  you  could  do  the  same !"  said 
Mary. 

"  Oh,  papa,  I  am  sorry  you  are  going  away,"  said 
Frank  ;  "  cannot  you  stay  while  I  read  about  the  blanket 
and  the  stars  1" 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot,  my  dear ;  but  there  is  a  man 
waiting  for  me  on  business." 

"  Then,  mamma,  I  will  go  on  to  you. 

"  '  I  then  went  to  serve  a  considerable  farmer  in  the 
neighbourhood,  whose  name  was  James  Glashan.  I 
found  him  very  kind  and  indulgent ;  but  he  soon  ob- 
served that,  in  the  evenings  when  my  work  was  over,  I 
went  into  the  field  with  a  blanket  over  me,  lay  down  on 
my  back,  and  stretching  a  small  thread,  with  small 
beads  upon  it,  at  arm's  length,  between  my  eye  and  the 
stars,  sliding  the  beads  upon  it  till  they  hid  such  and 
such  stars  from  my  eye,  in  order  to  take  their  apparent 
distances  from  one  another ;  and  then  laying  the  thread 
down  on  a  paper,  1  marked  the  stars  thereon  by  the 
beads,  according  to  their  respective  positions,  having  a 
candle  by  me.  My  master  at  first  laughed  at  me ;  but 
when  I  explained  my  meaning  to  him,  he  encouraged 
me  to  go  on ;  and  that  I  might  make  fair  copies  in  the 
daytime  of  what  I  had  done  in  the  night,  he  often 
worked  for  me  himself.  1  shall  always  have  a  respect 
for  the  memory  of  that  man.' 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Frank,  "  or  you  would  have  been 
horribly  ungrateful,  Mr.  James  Ferguson.  Do  you  know, 
mamma,  this  uncommon  master,  as  he  calls  him,  used 
often  to  take  the  thrashing-flail  out  of  his  hands,  that  he 
might  have  time  for  his  pleasant  employment." 

Frank's  mother  joined  with  him  in  liking  this  uncom- 
mon master  very  much;  but  she  said  "that  she  had 
now  unfortunately  done  her  work,  and  that  she  must  go 
away ;  but,"  added  she,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  such  an 
entertaining  book." 

"  But,  mamma,  it  is  double  entertainment  when  I  am 
reading  it  to  you,  and  talking  to  you  about  it." 


.d  FRANK. 

"  Frank  can  go  on  reading  while  you  ar6  taking  you? 
work  out  of  the  frame,  may  not  he,  mammal"  said 
Mary. 

"  Very  well,  then,  mamma,  let  me  just  tell  you,"  said 
Frank,  "  all  this  Ferguson  did  when  he  was  a  boy ;  he 
made  a  globe  himself  out  of  a  block  of  wood,  turned  it, 
finished  it  in  three  weeks,  covered  it  with  paper,  and 
painted  and  divided  it  all  rightly ;  and,  mamma,  besides 
this  globe  of  the  earth,  and  besides  I  do  not  know  how 
many  little  windmills  and  watermiUs,  he  made  a  wood- 
en watch  that  went,  mamma !  and — " 

"  Now  comes  the  great  wonder!"  said  Mary. 

*'Hush!  my  dear  Mary.  I  must  just  read  to  you, 
mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  about  the  gentleman  on  horse- 
back showing  him  a  watch  for  the  first  time." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  it  very  much,  my  dear,"  said 
Frank's  mother.  "  But  now  I  really  have  other  things 
to  do,  and  I  must  go." 

Frank  pursued  her  from  room  to  room  with  the  book, 
reading  at  every  interval  when  he  could  be  heard. 

" '  I  thanked  the  gentleman,  and  told  him  that  I  un- 
derstood the  thing  very  well.  I  then  tried  to  make  a 
watch  with  wooden  wheels,  and  made  the  spring  of 
whalebone ;  but  found  that  I  could  not  make  the  watch 
go  when  the  balance  was  put  on,  because — ' " 

Frank  skipped  the  cause,  which  he  thought  either  too 
difficult  for  his  mother  or  himself  to  understand,  and  he 
went  on —  , 

"  '  I  enclosed  the  whole  in  a  wooden  case,  very  little 
bigger  than  a  breakfast  teacup.' " 

"  Oh !  now  comes  the  misfortune !"  cried  Mary. 

By  this  time  Frank  had  followed  his  mother  without 
well  knowing  where,  through  bedchamber,  and  dressing- 
room,  and  passage,  till  at  last  she  was  at  the  head  of  the 
back  staircase,  and  he  saw  her  descending.  ,,,,- 

"Where  are  you  going  now,  mamma?"  ,,, 

"  Down  stairs  to  the  housekeeper's-room,  my  dear,^ 
said  she. 

"  May  we  come  with  you,  mammal" 

*'  No,  my  dear,  certainly  not ;  I  cannot  listen  to  you 
and  to  Mrs.  Catharine  at  the  same  time." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  finish  the  misfortune  for  you  as 
you  go  down  stairs,  ma'am."  He  read  on  as  loud  and 
fast  as  he  could — 

"  '  A  clumsy  neighbour  one  day  looking  at  my  waich. 


FRANK.  319 

happened  to  let  it  fall,  and,  turning  hastily  to  pick  it  up, 
set  his  foot  upon  it  and  crushed  it  all  to  pieces,  which 
so  provoked  my  father  that  he  was  almost  ready  to  beat 
the  man ;  and  this  discouraged  me  so  much  that  I  never 
attempted  to  make  such  another  machine  again,  espe- 
cially as  I  was  thoroughly  convinced  I  could  never 
make  one  that  would  be  of  any  real  use.' " 

"  But  mamma  is  quite  out  of  hearing,  Frank,"  said 
Mary.  "  What  a  pity  to  have  wasted  all  that,  as  she 
was  going  down  stairs !" 

"  True,  1  will  keep  the  rest  for  her  dressing  time," 
said  Frank. 

At  her  dressing  time  Frank  appeared  again  before  his 
mother,  with  the  same  book  in  his  hand ;  he  read  to  her 
again  the  account  of  the  breaking  of  the  wooden  watch, 
and  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  her  pity  for  the  boy; 
but  he  was  not  quite  contented,  because  she  agreed 
with  Ferguson  in  being  thoroughly  convinced  that  he 
could  never  make  a  watch  that  would  be  of  any  real 
use. 

Frank  had  formed  an  intention  of  attempting  to  make 
such  a  watch,  and  had  seen  a  bit  of  whalebone  among 
Mrs.  Catharine's  treasures  which  he  thought  would  do 
for  the  spring. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "  all  this 
is  very  entertaining  and  ingenious;  but  we  must  not 
neglect  other  things  :  I  am  ready  to  look  at  the  '  Stream 
of  Tinle'  with  you,  and  to  hear  you  read  the  Grecian 
history."  ^ 

Frank  looked  at  the  "  Stream  of  Time"  with  fixed 
eyes,  without  well  knowing  what  he  saw  or  what  he 
heard  from  his  mother,  which  she  observing,  rolled  up 
the  chart ;  and  Frank  then  opened  the  Grecian  history, 
reading  so  fast  that  it  was  clear  he  wanted  only  to  get 
it  over ;  he  even  hurried  and  stumbled  when  he  came 
to  what  he  loved  most — Leonidas  in  the  straits. 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "  you  had  better 
put  down  the  book,  and  empty  your  head  quite  of  Mr. 
Ferguson  before  you  go  on  with  Leonidas.' 
,     Frank  put  down  the  book,  and  said, 

"  Thank  you,  mamma ;  1  am  thinking  that  I  wish 
I  had  been  born  a  peasant-boy,  like  Ferguson,  that  I 
might  have  learned  every  thing  by  myself,  as  he  did,  in 
a  wonderful  way,  and  that  I  might  have  surprised  every- 
body ;  how  happy  he  must  have  been !    He  taught  him- 


PRANK. 

self  vulgar  arithmetic :  mamma,  what  is  vulgar  arith- 
metic r' 

"  Common  arithmetic,  ray  dear." 

"  What !  addition,  multiplication,  subtraction,  and  di- 
vision, which  we  have  learned  ?"  said  Frank.  "  But 
then,  mamma,  it  is  no  great  glory  to  us  to  have  learned 
these  things :  now  it  was  wonderful  for  him ;  and  he 
was  so  happy,  working  through  all  his  difficulties.  Oh, 
mother !  I  wish  I  was  what  is  called  in  the  book  a  self- 
taught  genius." 

"  My  dear,"  replied  his  mother,  laughing,  "  since  you 
cannot  be  a  self-taught  genius  now,  you  had  better  con- 
tent yourself  with  being,  if  you  can,  a  well-taught  ge- 
nius." 

"  That  I  shall  be,  certainly,"  said  Frank,  "  because 
you  and  papa  teach  me,  and  1  am  sure  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you."   But  still  Frank  looked  not  quite  happy. 

"  To  comfort  you,  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  "  1  can 
tell  you  that  I  do  not  believe  one  in  ten  of  these  self- 
taught  persons  ever  distinguish  themselves  in  the  world, 
or  excite  that  wonder,  or  obtain  that  glory,  of  which 
you  are  so  desirous." 

"  But,  mamma,  I  might  have  been  that  one  in  ten." 

"  True,  my  dear,  after  struggling  through  great  diflS- 
culties." 

"  But  that  is  what  I  should  have  liked  of  all  things, 
mamma." 

"  Yet  you  do  not  seem  to  me  particularly  to  like  even 
the  little  difficulties  you  do  meet  with,"  said  his  mother. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  mamma?" 

"  Don't  you  remember,"  said  Mary,  "  Latin  grammar 
for  one  thing,  and  sums  in  division  of  pounds,  shillings, 
and  pence  V 

"  But,  my  dear,  those  are  not  at  all  the  sort  of  diffi- 
culties I  mean." 

"  And  yet,"  said  his  mother,  "  those  are  some  of  the 
difficulties  which  your  self-taught  boy  must  have  gone 
through,  before  he  became  master  of  arithmetic,  and  a 
Latin  scholar,  must  not  he  V 

"  True  :  yes ;  I  did  not  think  of  that,"  said  Frank. 

"  Besides,  the  self-taught  genius  has  another  disad- 
vantage," said  his  mother.  "  Often,  for  want  of  friends 
and  books  to  tell  him  what  has  been  done,  he  wastes 
his  time  and  ingenuity  in  inventing  what  others  have 
invented  before  him.'* 


FRANK,  321 

**  That  is  true,"  said  Frank.  "  I  remember  Ferguson 
thought  he  was  the  first  person  who  had  ever  discovered 
the  use  of  a  lever,  and  a  wedge,  and  a  screw:  and  wrote 
a  book  about  them  ;  and  was  very  much  surprised  and 
disappointed  to  find  that  nothing  that  he  had  written 
was  new  to  anybody." 

"  Yes,  poor  man,"  said  Mary.  "  Now  you  can't 
make  such  a  mistake,  Frank,  for  you  have  friends  and 
books." 

"  Now  that  you  have  emptied  your  head,  Frank,"  said 
his  mother,  "  let  us  go  on  with  the  Grecian  history." 

Frank  now  read  with  attention.  When  the  business 
of  the  day  was  finished,  he  returned  to  his  projects. 
His  first  project  was  to  make  a  globe,  such  as  Ferguson 
had  made ;  and  he  would  have  it  all  painted  and  divided 
in  right  circles,  and  ready,  he  said,  by  the  time  the  en- 
gineer should  come  back,  and  this  would  surprise  him 
delightfully. 

Frank  recollected  to  have  seen,  behind  some  rubbish 
in  the  backyard,  a  stone  ball  which  had  once  stood  on 
the  top  of  the  pier  of  an  old  gate.  He  asked  his  father 
if  he  might  have  this ;  and  his  father  told  him  that  he 
might,  but  that  he  could  not  guess  what  use  he  could 
make  of  it. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  thought  Frank. 

With  the  help  of  levers  Frank  rolled  the  ball  happily 
home ;  and  next  it  was  to  be  cleaned,  for  it  was  covered 
with  green  stains  and  spots  of  thick  brown  moss.  The 
moss  was  scraped  off  by  Mary  with  an  oyster-shell,  but 
the  stains  could  not  be  removed.  Frank  determined  to 
cover  it  with  paper,  through  which  he  thought  that  they 
would  not  be  seen.  But  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  cover 
it :  Mary  cut  paper  in  all  forms,  and  pasted  and  pasted, 
and  it  crinkled  and  crinkled,  and  it  never  would  lie 
smooth  on  the  stone,  nor  would  the  quarters  (as  Frank 
called  them),  the  gores  (as  Mary  called  them),  join 
rightly. 

"  Oh,  Frank !  it  never,  never  will  do,"  said  Mary,  af- 
ter she  had  pasted  at  it  till  she  was  quite  tired. 

Frank  gave  up  the  stone  ball ;  he  had  just  thought  of 
something  much  better.  This  was  a  windmill,  which, 
as  Mary  observed,  would  be  useful  to  stick  up  in  the 
garden  to  frighten  away  the  birds.  Frank  had  carpen- 
ter's tools,  and  had  been  used  to  work  with  them !  and 
he  had  wood,  and  nails,  and  all  he  wanted  for  his  wind- 
03 


32!S  FRANK. 

mill:  he  persevered,  and  really  did  make  what  the 
gardener  called  a  whirligig :  and  it  was  put  up  in  the  gar- 
den, and  frightened  away  the  birds  from  one  cherry-tree 
for  a  whole  day ;  but  the  next  day  something  was  amiss 
with  it ;  the  gardener  said  one  of  the  vanes,  or  leaves  of 
the  mill  had  dropped  out,  and,  in  short,  it  fell  to  pieces. 
But  still  as  one  scheme  failed,  another  rose  in  Frank's 
imagination  ;  and  he  went  on  from  one  to  another, 
pleased  always  with  the  last  new  idea,  yet  finishing 
few ;  for  some  he  found  impossible,  some  not  sufficiently 
surprising,  and  almost  all  were  too  tiresome,  he  said,  to 
be  worth  completing.  But  at  last  he  found  a  new  grand 
project  of  an  orrery,  a  machine,  as  he  told  Mary,  by 
which,  with  the  help  of  little  balls  representing  the 
earth,  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  he  could  show  the  motions 
of  all  the  heavenly  bodies.  It  was  a  bold  undertaking, 
especially  as  he  did  not  yet  know  half  their  motions . 
but  these  he  could  learn,  he  thought,  as  he  went  on  with 
his  work,  because  there  was  a  description  and  an  en- 
graving of  an  orrery  in  his  dear  Mr.  Ferguson's  book ; 
Frank  prevailed  upon  his  mother  to  lend  him  her  round 
tambour-frame,  in  which,  luckily,  there  was  no  work ; 
he  assured  her  that  he  would  neither  break  nor  injure  it 
in  any  way  ;  and  she  was  willing  to  trust  him,  because 
he  was  always  very  careful  of  what  he  promised  not  to 
spoil. 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  said  she,  "  I  am  glad  you  amuse 
yourself:  and  you  will  soon  find  out,  by  your  own  ex- 
perience, what  you  can,  and  what  you  cannot  do  :  but 
you  now  give  up  too  nnich  time  to  these  amusements ; 
you  neglect  and  forget  all  that  you  had  resolved  to  do 
and  to  learn  of  more  useful  things." 

Mary's  eye  turned  consciously  towards  the  •'  Stream 
of  Time."  She  recollected,  and  so  did  Frank,  that  it 
had  been  quite  disregarded  while  he  had  been  making 
the  whirligig,  and  endeavouring  to  make  the  globes : 
the  Roman  history,  and  the  Grecian,  and  Scientific  Dia- 
logues too,  with  the  marked  passages  that  were  to  have 
been  studied  before  the  return  of  the  engineer — all  these 
had  been  neglected.  His  lessons  in  writing,  in  arith- 
metic, had  been  iU  attended  to :  the  lists  of  the  must 
wants  and  may  wants  of  man  and  woman  had  been 
quite  forgotten  ;  in  short,  he  had  been  so  much  devoted 
to  his  new  schemes,  that  he  had  had  no  time,no  thought 
for  any  thing  else, 


FRANK.  333 

*'  It  is  all  very  true,  mamma,"  said  he :  "  but  if  you  will 
Dnly  be  so  good  as  to  lend  me  the  tambour-frame,  I 
will  do  all  that  I  have  resolved  to  do  in  time,  and  my 
project  also." 

And  he  resolved  that  he  would  only  work  at  his  or- 
rery every  day  after  he  should  have  finished  all  more 
useful  things.  To  this  resolution  he  kept  for  three 
days ;  but  he  told  Mary  that  he  found  his  head  was  al- 
ways running  upon  his  orrery,  therefore  he  thought  it 
best  to  finish  that  as  soon  as  possible,  and  then  he  should 
be  able  to  attend  to  better  things. 

All  day,  except  during  the  time  when  Mary  was  occu- 
pied with  her  lessons  and  her  needlework,  she  was  as- 
sisting Frank.  She  had  been  working  some  tent-stitch 
for  the  covering  of  a  stool ;  and  Frank  borrowed  from 
her  several  balls  of  various  coloured  worsteds,  which 
he  saw  in  her  basket ;  and  he  employed  her  in  winding 
and  unwinding  these,  making  some  larger,  some  small- 
er, to  bring  them,  as  he  said,  to  the  proper  sizes,  to  rep- 
resent the  earth,  sun,  moon,  and  planets.  How  these 
were  to  be  fixed,  or  made  to  turn,  on  long  hat  pins,  or 
to  be  pulled  or  pushed  round  on  circles  of  cap  wire,  witli 
which  his  friend  Mrs.  Catharine  had  furnished  him  from 
her  never-failing  stores,  we  pretend  not  to  describe,  nor 
are  we  quite  sure  that  Frank  himself  understood.  All 
we  know  is,  that  the  evening  came,  and  found  Frank 
surrounded  with  tangled  balls  of  worsted,  some  fastened 
on  their  pins,  and  on  their  circles,  to  the  tambour-frame  ; 
but  several  of  the  planets  rolling  about  the  room,  uncer- 
tain of  their  destination.  Meantime  Frank's  fingers 
were  pricked  and  scratched  in  every  direction,  and  the 
inside  of  Mary's  were  died  with  streaks  of  red,  blue, 
green,  from  the  winding  of  the  worsted  worlds.  Mary's 
patience  never  failed  when  she  was  assisting  Frank ; 
or,  more  difficult  still,  when  she  was  reduced  merely  to 
standing  by  to  look  on  at  his  work :  she  now  refrained 
from  making  any  noises  of  pity  when  things  went  wrong ; 
and  after  he  begged  her  not,  she  never  once  repeated, 
"  Indeed,  Frank,  it  never  will  do." 

But  still  it  never  would  do ;  and  Frank,  perplexed  and 
disappointed,  was  forced  at  last  to  go  to  bed.  His 
mother,  wondering  what  he  had  been  doing  all  day, 
gravely  said  to  him  when  he  wished  her  good  night, 

"  Frank,  you  have  not  this  day  done  any  one  of  those 
useful  things  you  had  intended  to  do." 


FRANK. 

"  No,  mamma,"  said  Frank ,  *'  but  I  hare  been  doing 
a  very  ingenious  thing ;  exceedingly  ingenious,  mam- 
ma." 


Frank,  we  believe,  vras  up  before  the  lark  in  the 
morning,  and  he  was  obliged  to  work  alone,  for  Mary 
could  not  come  to  him  before  breakfast.  He  was  inde- 
fatigable in  pulling  to  pieces  and  putting  together  again, 
changing  and  repairing,  coaxing  and  bungling,  till  at  last 
Mary  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mary  1"  cried  Frank,  going  to 
the  door. 

"  Matter !"  said  Mary :  "  why,  what  are  you  about, 
my  dear  ?  It  is  just  breakfast  time ;  papa  is  calling  for 
you." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Frank,  "  is  it  possible  ?  I  thought  I 
had  an  hour  to  come !" 

"  Well,  well ;  run  down  now  and  say  your  Latin." 

"  Say  it !  oh,  Mary  !"  cried  Frank,  clasping  his  hands, 
"  do  you  know  I  forgot  to  learn  it ;  I  thought  I  should 
have  time:  oh,  what  shall  I  doV 

"  What  shall  we  do,  indeed  !"  said  Mary,  struck  with 
the  greatness  of  the  immediate  danger. 

"  Oh,  my  resolution !  what  will  become  of  me  !"  cried 
Frank.     "  Oh,  disgrace !" 

"  Do  not  think  of  the  disgrace,  or  of  any  thing,  but 
take  the  grammar  and  learn  it  as  fast  as  ever  you  can  : 
you  will  have  time  while  papa  is  at  breakfast;  you 
know  he  has  the  newspaper  to  read  before  he  rings  for 
the  horses." 

"  Horses !  oh,  I  don't  mind  about  the  horses." 

"Well,  never  mind  what  you  do  not  mind,"  cried 
Mary,  speaking  as  fast  as  the  words  could  come  out  of 
her  mouth.  "  Here's  the  book — here's  the  place :  take 
care,  your  feet  are  in  a  tangle  of  worsted." 

"  Oh,  my  sun  and  moon !  Mary  !  Mary  !" 

"  Never  mind  them,  never  mind  them :  come  quit^ 
away  out  of  the  room  :  sit  down  here  on  this  stair,  and 
I  will  set  beside  you  to  hear  it  when  you  are  ready." 

"  Thank  you.  But  no,  no,  I  cannot  get  it  while  I  am 
thinking  that  you  are  losing  your  breakfast." 

"  Never  mind  my  breakfast,  my  dear." 

"  No,  no  Mary,  do  not  stay,  or  it's  all  over  with  me ;  I 
cannot  get  it  if  you  stay." 


FRANK.  325 

"Then  I  will  go — I'm  gone,"  said  Mary,  running 
down  stairs  as  quick  as  lightning. 

"  Mary,"  said  Frank,  calling  to  her  over  the  banisters, 
"  do  not  say  a  word  about  my  orrery,  or  you  will  spoil 
the  surprise." 

"  But  what  shall  I  say  when  papa  and  mamma  ask 
rae  for  you  and  your  Latin !" 

"  The  truth,  to  be  sure — that  1  forgot  it." 

"  A  pretty  thing  to  say,"  thought  Mary,  slackening 
her  pace  as  she  crossed  the  hall. 

Frank  had,  by  his  regular  practice  for  months  past, 
acquired  the  power  of  turning  his  attention  at  once  full 
and  strong  upon  these  Latin  lessons,  and  he  had  learned 
to  get  by  heart  readily.  He  gave  his  soul  to  it,  and  he 
did  learn  this  lesson  now,  in  his  utmost  need,  in  a  sur- 
prisingly short  time. 

"  Quick,  indeed !"  thought  Mary,  as  he  entered  the 
breakfast-room  :  "  but  I  am  afraid  not  well." 

She  was  frightened  for  him  when  he  laid  the  book 
confidently  before  his  father :  and  while  he  was  saying 
it,  she  sat  with  the  untasted  toast  in  her  hand.  Frank 
got  through  it  all. 

"  Without  missing  one  word !"  said  Mary,  exultingly. 

Frank  now  took  breath,  and  relieved  himself  by  a  good 
stretching  of  both  arms.  He  had  not  yet  sufficiently 
recovered  from  the  agitation  into  which  he  had  been 
thrown,  to  begin  to  boast  or  triumph  in  his  escape :  he 
sat  down  to  eat  his  breakfast,  and  did  not  even  observe, 
till  he  had  half  done,  the  unusual  silence  of  both  his 
father  and  mother.  But  his  father  might  be  silent  be- 
cause he  was  deep  in  the  newspaper,  Frank  thought; 
and  his  mother  might  be  silent  because  she  was  intent 
upon  her  work. 

Frank,  now  primed  by  his  breakfast,  began  a  little 
boasting  to  Mary. 

"  Did  not  I  get  it  quickly,  Mary  1  and  well,  too  f 

"  Yes ;  but  1  hope  you  never  will  do  so  again,"  said 
Mary. 

"  What !  not  get  my  lesson  quickly  and  well  V  said 
Frank,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  Frank !"  said  Mary,  "  how  soon  you  forget  dan- 
ger." 

"  Because  I  am  a  man,  ray  dear ;  but  you  need  not 
look  so  melancholy,  Mary ;  I  am  only  joking  now,  because 
I  am  happily  over  the  danger ;  but,  seriously,  I  will  never 
28 


9^  FRANK. 

do  so  again :  I  was  near  losing  all ;  but  if^s  over  now. 
Had  not  I  better  ring  for  the  horses  now  V 

"  No,  Frank,"  said  his  mother,  in  a  tone  which  some- 
what checked  Frank's  rising  spirits.  Laying  aside  the 
newspaper,  his  father  asked  him  what  could  have  at- 
tempted him  to  nm  this  chance  of  "  losing  all ;"  and 
how  it  had  happened  that  he  could  have  forgotten  to 
learn  his  lesson  till  so  late. 

"  Papa,"  said  Frank,  "  will  yoo  be  so  good  as  not  to 
ask  me,  because  I  do  not  wish  to  tell  you  yet  what  I  am 
about:  I  want  to  surprise  you  with  something  that  I 
know  you  wiU  like."   _ 

"  You  were  very  near  surprising  me  with  scwnething 
that  I  should  have  disliked,"  said  his  father.  "  I  would 
rather,  Frank,  as  your  father  and  friend,  much  rather, 
that  you  had  the  power  of  keeping  to  your  resolutions, 
than  that  yon  made  the  most  ingenious  thing  that  ever 
was  thought  of  by  a  boy  of  your  age." 

"  But  1  thought  you  Uked  ingenuity  so  very  much, 
papa  ?" 

"  I  like  ingenuity  much,  but  resolution  more." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  his  mother.  "  I  have  knowTi  an  in- 
genious, a  very  ingenious  man,  who,  for  want  of  resolu- 
tion to  do  that  which  he  mtended,  never  finished  during 
his  whole  life  any  one  of  the  many  ingenious  things  he 
had  begun  ;  and  from  the  same  want  of  resolution  broke 
all  his  promises,  ruined  himself  and  his  whole  family, 
lived  in  misery,  and  died  in  disgrace." 

"  Oh,  mother  !  what  a  shocking  picture!" 

"  What  a  shocking  reality  !"  said  his  father. 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Mary,  "  you  need  not  be  afraid 
of  Frank's  wanting  resolution  ;  only  look  at  his  hands," 
said  she,  opening  one  of  Frank's  passive  hands,  and 
showing  the  wounds  which  had  been  made  by  the  pins 
and  wires.  Frank  drew  brack  his  hand  as  if  ashamed 
to  claim  pity  for  such  trifling  hurts. 

"  My  dear  Mary,  that  is  nothing ;  they  do  not  give  me 
any  pain." 

"  But  they  did  give  him  pain  yesterday,"  persisted 
Mary :  "  and  all  day  he  worked  on,  mamma,  never 
minding,  even  when  the  wounds  were  ever  so  much 
hurt  by  the  worsted." 

"  Oh,  hush,  Mary !"  cried  Frank :  "  do  not  say  worsted, 
you  will  tell  all." 

"  But,  mamma,  surely  he  did  not  fly  about  fiom  one 


FRANK.  d8T 

thing  to  another  yesterday,"  said  Mary ;  "  he  stuck  to — 
I  must  not  tell  you  what,  all  day  long,  and  was  at  it  very, 
very  early  this  morning,  and  it  was  his  eagerness  to 
finish  one  thing,  ma'am,  that  made  him  forget  every  thing 
else  in  the  world,  and  almost  brought  him  to — " 

"  Don't  say  disgrace,"  interrupted  Frank ;  "  I  cannot 
bear  that  word." 

"  It  is  rather  hard,  I  allow,  Mary,"  said  his  mother, 
"  to  reproach  poor  Frank  at  the  same  moment  with  two 
seemingly  opposite  faults,  with  his  not  finishing  any 
thing,  and  with  his  being  too  eager  to  finish  one  thing. 
But  there  is  a  fault  with  which  1  can  never  reproach 
him — want  of  candour." 

Frank's  countenance  brightened,  and  he  looked  up 
full  in  his  mother's  eyes,  grateful,  and  conscious  that  he 
deserved  this- 

"  Therefore  I  need  only  appeal  to  himself:  he  knows 
whether  I  accuse  him  justly  or  unjustly,  when  I  say 
that  though  he  is  all  eagerness  about  a  new  thing,  and 
perhaps  intent  upon  completing  a  favourite  project,  yet 
for  this  he  neglects  and  forgets  what  he  had  formerly 
intended:  then  some  new  fancy  comes,  and  he  sweeps 
away  the  old  one  all  unfinished." 

"  True,  mamma,  till  yesterday ;  quite  true  of  all  but 
my  last  project :  I  did  certainly  stick  to  ray  last." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  because  it  was  your  last,"  said  his 
mother :  "  however,  I  will  not  be  hard  upon  you ;  one 
day  is  a  long  trial  for  a  boy  of  your  age." 

"  And  a  great  piece  of  this  morning,"  said  Frank, "  rec- 
ollect, mamma;  and  I  would  willingly  go  on  all  day 
to-day,  if  I  might ;  but  then  you  would  say  I  did  not 
keep  my  resolutions  about  attending  to  the  useful  things ; 
so  what  can  I  do  ?" 

"Cannot  you  abide  by  the  determination  you  once 
made,  to  do  the  useful  things,  as  you  probably  call  them, 
first,  and  at  fixed  hours,  which  is  the  surest  way  of  doing 
them  regularly,  and  then  divert  yourself  as  you  please 
afterward,  with  your  new  or  old  projects  ?" 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  "  may  I  say  one  thing  V 

*'  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother,  smiling ;  "  but  you 
have  said  so  many  already  that  this  question  seems  un- 
necessary." 

"  Only  make  haste,"  said  his  father,  "  for  this  is  grow- 
ing rather  long,  and  I  have  much  to  do." 

*'  Only,  papa,  only,  mamma,"  looking  first  at  one  and 


328  FRANK. 

then  at  the  other,  "  I  think  what  I  am  doing  up  stain, 
my  last  project,  is  really  as  useful  as  any  of  those  which 
you  call  useful  things,  because  it  has  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  astronomy,  and  is  fully  as  grand  as  any  thing  in 
Scientific  Dialogues." 

"  Possibly,  my  dear,"  said  his  father ;  "  but  you  know 
of  this  we  cannot  judge  till  we  see  it." 

"  Then,"  said  Frank,  making  a  great  effort  over  him- 
self, "  1  will  give  you  the  surprise,  and  you  shall  see  it : 
Mary,  come  with  me,  and  we  will  bring  it  down." 

Frank  ran  up  stairs,  and  returned,  carrying  into  the 
room  his  mother's  round  tambour-frame,  with  its  two 
circular  rims  set  in  opposite  directions,  and  hung  round 
with  divers  balls  of  many-coloured  worsteds,  stuck  with 
pins  and  circles  in  an  indescribable  manner.  Mary  fol- 
lowed, holding  the  trains  of  the  many-coloured  balls; 
and  Frank  looked  back  to  beg  her  not  to  entangle  the 
tails  of  his  planets. 

"  What  have  we  here  1"  said  his  father. 

"  My  orrery,  father,"  said  Frank,  setting  it  on  the 
table  before  him,  with  such  a  sense  of  importance  that 
his  father  could  hardly  refrain  from  laughing.  How- 
ever, Frank  did  not  see  this ;  his  father  kindly  struggled 
to  keep  the  comers  of  his  mouth  in  order ;  and  his 
mother  looked  on  in  silence,  while  Frank  proceeded  to 
point  out  his  worsted  earth,  sun,  moon,  and  planets : 
that  they  were  some  of  them  far  from  moving  rightly 
in,  or  on,  or  off  their  wiry  orbits,  Frank  candidly  ac- 
knowledged. 

"  But  now,  papa,  is  not  it  worth  finishing  1" 

"  An  orrery,  sir,"  said  Mary,  to  whom  the  word  was 
not  yet  quite  familiar,  and  sounded  very  grand ;  "  an 
orrery,  sir  !  Only  think,  mamma,  of  that!  all  made  by 
himself,  at  his  age  !  when,  as  he  told  me  yesterday,  even 

Mr. ,  the  man  in  tlie  book,  did  not  make  an  orrery 

till  he  was  a  great  many  years  older ! — Worth  finish- 
ing !  ray  dear  Frank ;  to  be  sure  papa  will  think  it 
worth  finishing  :  don't  you,  papa  V 

"  If  it  were  possible  to  finish  it,"  said  his  father. 

Nothing  appeared  to  Frank  more  easy,  till  his  father 
pointed  out  the  defects,  the  deficiencies,  the  mistakes — 
in  one  word,  the  absurdities ;  but  he  did  not  use  that 
offensive  word;  he  was  tender  of  Frank's  feelings  for 
his  wasted  work.  His  father,  he  saw,  understood  and 
commended  every  part  that  was  ingenious,  but  lament- 


FRANK.  329 

ed  that  so  much  ingenuity  had  been  used  in  vain.  To 
finish  it,  to  make  any  part  of  it  exact  or  useful,  to  make 
it  any  thing  but  a  child's  bungling,  falling-to-pieces  toy, 
it  would,  as  candid  Frank  was  soon  made  to  perceive, 
be  necessary  to  possess  a  knowledge  of  astronomy 
which  he  had  not  yet  acquired.  But  still  Frank  urged, 
that  though  he  did  not  know  such  and  such  necessary 
things,  yet  he  knew  where  to  find  them  in  Scientific 
Dialogues,  or  in  Mr.  Ferguson's  own  receipt,  as  he 
called  it,  for  making  an  orrery.  Frank  ran  for  the  book, 
to  show  and  consult  his  father ;  and  though  his  father 
was  in  a  hurry  to  be  gone,  he  stayed  to  enter  into  the 
schemes  and  counsels  of  his  little  son.  Mary  crept 
close  to  him,  for  she  loved  him  very  much. 

"  Well,  papa,"  said  she,  "  what  is  your  advice  to 
Frank  V 

"  My  first  advice  to  you,  Frank,"  said  his  father, 
"  and  indeed  the  condition  upon  which  I  now  stay  and 
give  up  my  time  to  you,  is,  that  you  abide  steadily  by 
whatever  resolution  you  now  make,  either  quite  to 
finish  it,  or  quite  to  give  up  this  orrery.  If  you  choose 
to  finish  it,  you  must  give  up,  for  sometime,  reading 
any  thing  entertaining  or  instructive ;  you  must  give  up 
arithmetic  and  history." 

"  And  the  Stream  of  Tinie,  and  the  lists,"  said  Mary. 

"  Every  thing,"  said  his  father,  "  to  this  one  object  of 
making  an  orrery ;  and  when  made,  as  well  as  you  pos- 
sibly could  with  my  assistance,  make  it,  observe,  your 
orrery  will  only  be  what  others  have  made  repeatedly 
before.  It  is  not  an  invention  that  will  surprise  any- 
body that  has  sense  or  knowledge  ;  and  to  surprise 
ignorant  people  or  fools,  I  suppose,  you  would  disdain. 
It  might,  perhaps,  be  a  wonder  that  Master  Frank  made 
it  at  Master  Frank's  age ;  but  then  Master  Frank  will 
grow  older,  and  when,  or  how,  or  why  he  made  this 
orrery,  few,  when  he  grows  to  be  a  man,  will  know  or 
care :  but  all  will  see  whether  he  has  the  knowledge 
which  is  necessary  for  a  man  and  a  gentleman  to  pos- 
sess.    Now  choose,  Frank." 

♦'  Father,"  said  Frank,  "  I  choose  to  give  up  the  or- 
rery, since  I  cannot  fiiiish  it  now,  without  giviug  up 
every  thing  else." 

As  he  spoke,  Frank  seized  his  orrery.  "  Mary,  bring 
your  work-basket,  my  dear,"  said  he. 

And  she  brought  it ;  and  he  pulled  oflF,  one  by  one,  de- 
28* 


830  FRANK. 

liberately,  the  worsted  sun,  moon,  earth,  and  stars,  and 
threw  them  into  the  basket  which  Mary  held.  Mary 
sighed,  but  Frank  did  not  sigh.  He  was  proud  to  give 
his  father  a  proof  of  his  resolution :  and  when  he  looked 
round,  he  saw  tears,  but  they  were  tears  of  pleasure,  in 
his  mother's  eyes.  His  father  shook  hands  with  him, 
and  said, 

"  This  gives  me  pleasure,  Frank  ;  this  pays  me  for 
giving  up  my  time  to  you." 

"  But  you  are  not  sure  yet,  papa,"  said  Frank  to  his 
father,  who  was  leaving  the  room,  "  that  I  shall  keep 
to  my  good  resolutions." 

"  1  am  not  quite  sure ;  but  this  is  a  good  beginning," 
said  his  father,  looking  back  with  a  smile,  which  de- 
lighted Mary ;  "  and  Mary  knows  that  a  good  beginning 
makes  a  good  ending." 

"  It  shall,"  said  Frank  :  "  therefore,  mamma,  before  I 
stir  from  this  spot,  let  us  settle  what  things  are  most 
necessary  for  me  to  do  every  day,  and  what  hours  will 
be  most  convenient  to  you,  and  best  for  me  to  do  them 
in." 

Willingly  his  mother  assisted  him  in  making  this  ar- 
rangement of  his  time.  The  feelings  of  this  moment 
would  have  inclined  him  to  do  too  much,  and  to  fix 
upon  too  many  hours  for  useful  studies  ;  but  his  mother 
advised  him  to  attempt  little,  and  engage  but  for  few, 
that  he  might  be  more  likely  to  keep  to  his  intentions. 

During  the  whole  of  the  following  month  Frank 
never  failed  in  being  punctual  to  his  appointed  hours ; 
but  it  must  be  owned  that  he  owed  mucli  to  Mary,  his 
dear  good  little  friend,  who  always  reminded  him  at  the 
right  hour  and  minute  of  what  wiis  to  be  done.  Frank 
often  found  it  difficult  to  obey  her  summons,  especially 
once  when  he  was  dustinjjf  and  repairing  Mrs.  Catha- 
rine's cuckoo  clock ;  but  he  conquered  himself,  and  at 
the  appointed  hours  he  did  all  that  he  intended  to  do. 

To  his  surprise,  he  found  that  he  had  afterward 
more  time  than  usual,  or  that  he  enjoyed  his  leisure 
more.  He  returned  at  intervals  with  greater  pleasure 
to  the  cuckoo  clock,  and  succeeded  in  setting  it  going 
again,  entirely  to  his  own  and  to  Mrs.  Catharine's  sat- 
isfaction ;  for,  as  all  who  may  doubt  the  possibility  of 
this  fact  should  be  informed,  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  with  it  but  that  it  had  been  clogged  with  the 
dust  of  years.     Mary  trembled  for  him  on  the  last  day 


FRANK.  331 

of  the  month,  when,  just  at  the  appointed  time  for  his 
sum  in  the  rule  of  three,  he  longed  to  stay  to  hear  the 
cuckoo  clock,  which,  as  he  observed  to  Mary,  wanted 
but  five  minutes  of  cuckooing;  but  he  took  her  advice, 
and  kept  his  good  resolutions. 


Late  one  morning  a  servant  came  into  the  room,  and 
whispered  to  Frank,  "There  is  a  person  wants  to 
speak  to  you,  Master  Frank,  at  the  gate." 

"  To  me  at  the  gate .'"  repeated  Frank.  "  I  wonder 
who  it  is,  and  why  does  not  he  come  to  the  door  1  Do 
you  know  who  the  person  is,  James  ?" 

"  I  do,  sir,  but  I  was  desired  only  to  say  a  person, 
sir,"  answered  the  servant. 

"  It  must  be  Master  Tom,"  said  Mary. 

"  Or  Squire  Rogers,"  said  Frank. 

"  Go  and  see  who  it  is,  my  dear,"  said  his  father. 

"  But  I  wish  you  would  come  with  me,  papa,"  said 
Frank  ;  "  for  perhaps  it  is  to  ask  me  to  do  something  that 
I  cannot  do — I  mean  that  I  should  not  do." 

"  And  what  then  1"  said  his  father.  "  You  have  tried 
and  found  that  you  can  say  no  when  it  is  necessary, 
without  having  me  at  your  back." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Frank,  and  away  he  ran. 

He  stayed  some  time,  and  he  returned,  looking  as  if 
he  had  done  sometliing  important.  "  You  are  right, 
Mary;  it  was  Tom." 

"  And  what  did  he  want  T" 

"  He  wanted  me  to  lend  him  Felix." 

"  And  did  you  V  said  his  father,  mother,  and  Mary. 

"You  shall  hear,  papa;  you  shall  hear,  mamma; 
Mary,  you  will  find  I  have  done  right." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  said  Mary. 

"I  hope  so,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Let  us  hear,"  said  his  father. 

•'  When  I  went  to  the  back  gate,"  said  Frank,  "  there 
I  saw  Tom  in  the  greatest  distress." 

"  Say  what  distress,  plainly." 

"  Why,  sir,  on  a  horse  in  such  a  condition ! — oh !  as  I 
never  saw,  as  never  was  seen  in  this  world  before ! 
Such  a  condition!  Mamma,  its  knees  were  cut  and 
bleeding,  and  its  sides  frothing ;  and  it  looked  dreadfully 
hot,  as  if  it  had  been  dragged  through  the  river.    It 


338  FRANK. 

stood  stiff  with  one  leg  out  before,  and  both  far  out 
behind,  and  its  head  poking,  like  the  bad  horses  you 
used  to  cut  out  in  paper,  Mary :  it  could  not  go  on. 
Tom  declared  he  could  not  make  it  stir  a  foot  farther ; 
and  to  prove  this  to  me,  he  said  he  would  give  him  a  cut 
with  his  whip  if  I  pleased." 

"  But  you  did  not  please,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mary. 

*'  Certainly  not.  I  begged  Tom  would  not ;  1  told 
him  I  believed  him.  But  he  said  the  horse  was  an  ob- 
stinate brute,  and  he  did  give  him  one  slash." 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Mary. 

"The  poor  horse  never  stirred:  Tom  said  his  arm 
was  tired  beating  him  on,  and  that  he  must  go  on  beat- 
ing him  all  the  way,  for  I  forget  how  many  miles,  if  I 
did  not  lend  him  t'elix  to  carry  him  home.  So  I  lent 
him  Felix,  and  I  hope  I  did  not  do  wrong." 

"  No  !  my  dear,  generous  boy,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Wrong,  no,  Frank,  I  am  glad  you  did  what  was 
good-natured,"  said  his  father.  "  Besides,  Felix  is  your 
own  horse,  and  you  had  a  right  to  lend  it  or  not,  as  you 
please.     But  is  Felix  gone  1" 

"  Off,  papa !" 

"  1  wish  I  had  known  of  this,  and  I  would  have  lent 
Mr.  Tom  a  horse  less  valuable  than  yours ;  he  is  not  fit 
to  be  trusted  with  a  good  one." 

"  I  hope  he  will  not  hurt  Felix,"  said  Mary. 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  "  I  think  Tom  will  really  ride  him 
gently,  because  he  promised  me.  So  I  am  almost  sure 
he  will,  mamma ;  do  not  you  think  he  will  when  he 
promised  upon  his  word  and  honour  !" 

"  I  should  be  quite  sure  you  would,  Frank,"  said  his 
father,  "  if  you  promised,  whether  you  said  upon  your 
word  and  honour  or  not;  but  I  cannot  feel  so  sure  about 
Master  Tom's  truth." 

Frank  and  Mary  looked  at  one  another,  recollecting 
at  this  moment  what  had  happened  about  swinging  on  a 
gate. 

"  I  did  not  recollect  that,"  said  Frank.  "  But  per- 
haps he  did  not  promise  that  time ;  I  never  thought  of 
doubting  him." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  his  father.  "  I  should  be 
very  sorry  you  were  suspicious.  You  did  what  was 
right,  and  what  was  humane ;  and  I  hope  you  will  not 
suffer  for  it." 

"  I  hope  Felix  will  not  suffer  for  it,"  said  Frank.    "  I 


PRANK.  333 

wish  I  had  thought  of  coming  back  to  tell  papa,  and  to 
ask  him  for  a  worse  horse.  But  one  cannot  think  of 
every  thing." 

"  Now,  papa,  you  see  that  Frank  was  right  in  wishing 
you  to  go  with  him  at  first,"  said  Mary,  "for  you 
would  have  thought  of  that  for  him." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mary,  it  does  Frank  much  more  good 
to  think  for  himself,  than  to  be  saved  from  making  little 
mistakes  by  my  thinking  for  him.  Besides,  though  he 
did  not  do,  perhaps,  what  was  most  prudent,  I  like  him 
the  better  for  not  being  selfish.  If  Master  Tom  deceives 
him,  that  is  Master  Tom's  fault,  not  Frank's." 

"There's  no  danger,  I  think,"  said  Frank;  "you  will 
see  Felix  will  come  back  safe  to-morrow." 

To-morrow  came,  and  no  Felix ;  but  a  groom  brought 

a  note  to  Frank  from  Mrs.  J .     The  note  began  with 

many  compliments,  "  and  thousands  of  thanks,  and  a 
million  of  regrets — but  Felix  had  met  with  a  little  ac- 
cident ;  he  had  fallen  down  on  the  road,  as  Tom  was 
trotting  him  quite  gently ;  Tom  was  fortunately  unhurt ; 
but  the  horse  by  the  fall  had  strained  his  shoulder ;  the 
hurt,  however,  was  very  slight,  it  would  be  almost  well, 
probably,  to-morrow ;  but  it  would  be  best,  however,  not 
to  think  of  stirring  him  till  the  strain  should  be  quite 
got  over,  because  a  strain  is  an  awkward  thing." 

Frank  looked  blank,  and  Mary  was  almost  as  sorry  as 
he  was.  His  father  desired  to  see  the  groom,  and  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  horse,  and  how  the  accident  had 
happened.  The  groom,  who  had  been  with  Master 
Tom  at  the  time  of  the  fall,  said  exactly  the  same  as 
the  note  ;  ending  with  the  same  words  ;  "  that  it  would 
be  best  not  to  think  of  stirring  him  till  the  strain  should 
be  quite  got  over,  because  a  strain  is  an  awkward 
thing." 

After  Frank's  first  sorrow  and  disappointment  at  not 
seeing  his  horse  were  over,  he  said,  that  since  Tom 
was  trotting  gently,  he  did  what  he  promised,  and  that 
he  was  not  to  blame  for  the  horse's  falling.  Mary  said 
she  was  glad  it  had  never  fallen  when  Frank  was 
riding  him.  She  supposed  that  was  because  Frank  rode 
better  than  Master  Tom. 

Tom's  horse,  which  had  been  well  rubbed  down  and 
taken  care  of,  was  by  this  time  rested,  and  able  to  move 

again ;  and  he  was  taken  back  by  Mrs.  J 's  groom, 

who,  as  he  went  off,  said  he  would  take  the  greatest 


334  PRANK. 

care  of  Felix,  if  he  was  left  with  him  a  few  days 
longer.  But  Frank's  father  thought  it  best  to  bring  the 
horse  home  directly ;  and  as  soon  as  the  groom  was 
gone,  he  asked  Frank  if  he  could  walk  with  him  four 
miles  and  back  again,  to  see  Felix  ? 

"  With  you  !  Oh  yes,  papa ;  four  miles !  five  !  six ! 
ten  miles  and  back  again,  1  am  sure  I  could." 

"  Well,  four  miles  will  do  for  the  present  business." 

There  was  a  way  across  the  fields  and  through  lanes, 

by  which  they  walked  to  Mr.  J 's.     They  arrived 

unexpectedly,  and  Tom,  who  first  met  them,  looked 
guilty,  and  spoke  in  a  very  confused,  embarrassed  man- 
ner. But  he  recovered  himself  when  his  friend  the 
groom  appeared,  who  spoke  for  him  very  fast.  Frank's 
father  said  nothing,  but  that  he  wished  to  see  the  horse, 
which  was  at  last  brought  out  of  the  stable :  it  was 
very  lame. 

"  Poor  Felix !  poor  fellow !  my  poor  Felix !"  said 
Frank. 

Felix,  the  moment  he  saw  Frank  and  heard  his  voice, 
tried  to  quicken  his  pace  towards  his  master.  The 
groom  led  him  on  to  the  grass-plot  before  the  door,  to 
show  how  well  he  could  walk :  but  he  seemed  to  step 
with  so  much  pain  that  Frank  called  to  beg  he  would 
stop.  His  father  began  to  examine  the  shoulder,  and 
found  the  hurt  much  more  serious  than  it  had  been 
described.  The  farrier,  to  whom  the  groom  had  con- 
stantly referred,  now  joined  them,  and  while  the  groom 
and  farrier  were  talking  to  his  father  on  one  side  of  the 
horse,  Frank  on  the  other  side  leaned  his  face  against 
Felix,  trying  to  keep  in  his  tears — not  unseen  by  Tom, 
who,  coming  close  to  him,  muttered — 

"  Crying !  what  good  crying !  Crying  for  a  horse ! 
That's  loo  bad !" 

"  And  if  I  were,"  said  Frank,  looking  up,  "  and  for  a 
horse  too,  it  is  not  so  bad  as  being  cruel  to  a  horse,  or 
to  any  thing !" 

Surprised  by  the  indignation  that  flashed  from  Frank's 
little  eyes,  through  his  tears,  and  alarmed  by  the  strong 
and  loud  emphasis  upon  cruel,  Tom  answered  only, 

"  Hush !  hush  !  Who's  cruel !  I  was  only  joking. 
Nobody's  cruel!  I'm  very  sorry.  Everybody's  very 
sorry.     Here's  my  mother." 

His  mother  came  out,  "  so  sorry,  so  very,  very  sorry !" 
She  said  she  was  "  so  shocked,  so  anxious  about  poor 


PRANK.  836 

dear  Master  Frank's  horse ;  for  if  it  had  been  anybody- 
else's,  she  should  not  have  been  half  so  shocked  ;"  and 
as  she  spoke  she  would  have  wiped  away  a  fly  from  Fe- 
lix's forehead  with  her  embroidered  pocket-handker- 
chief; but  FeUx  did  not  like  it,  and  she  started  back, 
exclaiming, 

"  Oh,  Master  Frank,  take  care,  the  brute  will  tread  on 
your  foot !" 

"  No  danger,"  said  Frank. 

"  So  cool !  quite  a  little  hero.  I  so  admire  his  taking 
it  all  so  coolly.  But  you  have  no  idea  what  Tom  has 
suffered.  But  Tom  never  can  speak  when  he  feels ;  he 
was  stamping  about  last  night,  and  crying !" 

"  Crying !  was  he,"  said  Frank.  "  Crying  for  a 
horse,  too ! !" 

"  And  why  not,  love !  a  person  who  has  any  humani- 
ty, any  sensibiHty !  and  such  a  sweet  horse  !  I  could 
have  cried  myself,  I  am  sure.  Why  should  you  think 
it  extraordinary  that  Tom  should  cry  for  a  horse  1" 

"  Do  you  hear  what  the  farrier  is  saying  about  Felix  ?" 
said  Tom;  and  Frank  immediately  went  to  listen  to 
him. 

The  farrier  was  prophesying  and  promising  that  Fe- 
lix should  be  well  and  sound  as  ever,  soon,  if  he  was 
but  left  to  his  care  ;  and  the  groom  and  he  went  on  talk- 
ing of  potions  and  lotions,  and  washes  and  mashes,  and 
a  number  of  things  which  Frank  did  not  understand ; 
but  all  the  time  kept  close  to  his  father,  repeating  in  a 
low  voice,  "Oh!  do  take  him  home,  papa.  Do  let  me 
take  him  home,  papa." 

Right  glad  was  Frank  when  he  heard  his  father  order 
that  the  bridle  should  be  put  on  Felix,  and  say  that  he 
would  take  him  home  directly.  The  groom  declared 
that  no  man  that  ever  wore  spurs  could  get  the  horse 
to  go  four  miles  with  that  shoidder  in  two  hours. 

"  So  you  will  never  be  home  in  time  for  dinner,"  said 
Tom. 

"  And  mamma  will  be  angry,"  said  Mrs.  J . 

"  No,  ma'am,  mamma  will  not  be  angry,  begging  your 
pardon,"  said  Frank.  "  She  is  never  angry  about  those 
things,  and  papa  will  not  care  about  dinner.  May  I  go 
on,  papal" 

"  Then  my  groom  must  lead  him,"  said  Mrs.  J . 

"  No,  no,  papa,  pray  let  me  lead  him." 

His  father  said  that  he  might,  and  put  the  bridle  into 


336  FRANK. 

his  hand,  saying,  that  they  should  return  the  same  way 
that  they  came,  in  which  there  were  no  difficulties,  no 
stiles,  no  ditches,  and  only  two  gates,  which  the  farmers 
would  open. 

"  Come  along,  Felix,"  cried  Frank. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  added  Mrs.  J ,  joining  her  re- 
monstrances to  those  of  the  groom  and  farrier,  "  you 
would  not  let  Master  Frank  lead  the  horse  himself? 
Oh !  pray  let  my  groom :  if  anybody  meets  you,  how 
odd  they  will  think  it.  If  anybody  sees  him,  what  wUl 
they  say  ?" 

"  I  do  not  mind  what  they  say,"  said  Frank.  "  I  do 
not  care  who  sees  me ;  there  is  nothing  wrong  in  my 
leading  Felix.  No,  no,  Mr.  Groom,"  said  he,  resisting 
the  groom,  who  offered  to  take  the  bridle  from  his  hand. 
"  No,  no,  papa  says  I  may — and  I  will." 

"  Will !"  repeated  Mrs.  J .    "  Dear  me !  who  would 

ever  have  expected  to  hear  such  a  word  from  Master 
Frank  ?  I  thought  Master  Frank  was  so  good  that  he 
had  no  will  of  his  own.  I  thought  he  always  said.  Just 
as  papa  pleases." 

"  Papa  pleases  that  I  should  have  a  will  of  my  own," 
said  Frank.  "  Look,  papa,  how  Felix  follows  me,"  said 
he,  going  on,  patting  him  on  the  well  shoulder.  "  Poor 
fellow — good  Felix." 

"Sweet  creature!  how  I  admire   that  tenderness! 

One  kiss  at  parting,"  cried  Mrs.  J ,  stepping  up  to 

him  with  intent  to  kiss  him ;  but  Frank  put  his  arm 
across  his  face  at  that  instant,  so  that  no  kiss  could  be 
had.  She  laughed  and  said,  "  Who'd  have  thought  he 
was  so  ungallant  ]  but  his  heart  and  soul  are  in  his 
horse ;  he  can  think  of  nothing  but  Felix." 

And   much   more   Mrs.  J .  said,  but  what  more 

Frank  did  not  hear,  for  he  led  Felix  away  as  weU  as  he 
could ;  but  as  he  passed  he  saw  Tom  leaning  against 
the  stable-door,  and  looking  very  gloomy ;  and  believing 
he  must  be  really  very  unhappy,  Frank  held  out  his 
hand  to  him,  saying,  "  Shake  hands,  Tom  ;  you  see  Fe- 
lix can  walk  pretty  well,  and  I  dare  say  he  will  get  quite 
well." 

Tom,  now  really  touched,  gave  his  hand  and  said, 
"  Jack,  the  groom,  told  me  you  never  would  forgive 
me." 

"  Did  he  V  said  Frank ;  "  Not  forgive  you  for  an  ac- 
cident !     Besides,  I  know  you  must  be  very  sorry." 


FRANK.  337 

"  I  am,  now,"  said  Tom,  turning  away  his  head,  "  that 
I  am  ;  and  do  you  forgive  me,  Frank  1" 

"  That  I  do,"  said  Frank,  "  and  so  does  Fehx,  I  am 
sure  ;  he  would  say  so  if  he  could.  Pat  him,  pat  him ; 
that's  as  good  as  shaking  hands,"  said  Frank. 

But  the  horse  started  back  as  Tom  approached. 

"  He's  only  a  horse,  and  has  not  sense  enough  to  for- 
give," said  Frank ;  "  but  there's  my  hand  for  him."     •^ 

Tom  grasped  Frank'a  hand,  and  was  going  to  say 
something,  but  the  groom  came  by  to  open  the  gate. 
Tom's  countenance  changed,  and,  letting  go  Frank's 
hand,  he  did  not  utter  whatever  it  was  that  he  had  been 
going  to  say. 

With  fond  words  and  frequent  patting,  and  careful 
choosing  of  his  paths  through  the  fields,  Frank  drew 
Felix  on,  slowly  indeed,  but  without  much  difficulty,  till 
they  came  to  a  bit  of  cross-road,  where,  at  the  sight  of 
certain  flat  stepping-stones  across  a  ford,  he  gave  signs 
of  terror,  and  became,  what  he  had  never  before  ap- 
peared, quite  restive. 

Frank's  father  advised  the  taking  him  round  by 
another  way,  and  with  his  counsel  and  assistance  Felix 
was  brought  home,  exceedingly  tired  indeed,  but  safely. 
As  soon  as  all  that  could  be  devised  for  his  comfort  was 
done,  Frank  went  to  Mary,  who  was  anxiously  waiting 
for  him  to  ask  many  questions :  several  about  Felix  and 
his  strain,  several  about  Tom  and  his  promise.  To  all 
that  concerned  Felix,  Frank  answered  minutely  and 
clearly.  But  with  respect  to  Tom  he  could  not  be  so 
satisfactory ;  he  could  only  answer  shortly,  that  he 
hoped  he  had  kept  his  promise.  That  he  had  not  in- 
quired, and  that  he  would  rather  not  think  about  it. 

"  But  now  you  have  made  me  think  about  it,"  said 
Frank,  "  there  was  something  very  pale  and  confused 
in  his  countenance  at  first,  and  at  last  too ;  but  it  is  not 
fair  to  judge  by  countenance." 

"  No,"  said  Mary,  "  for  when  people  are  frightened 
they  look  pale  and  confused." 

"  But  do  not  let  us  talk  of  him,"  said  Frank,  "  any 
more.  I  have  never  thought  of  him  once  all  the  way 
home ;  indeed  I  could  not,  for  I  had  to  mind  every  step 
that  poor  Felix  was  taking.  My  dear  Mary,  you  cannot 
think  how  gentle  and  good  he  was,  or  how  excessively 
kind  my  father  was  all  the  way  to  me  and  Felix.  I 
shall  never  forget  it  if  I  live  a  hundred  years." 
P  29 


338  PRANK. 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  said  Mary. 

After  a  night's  rest,  the  first  questions  that  were  anx* 
iously  asked  in  the  morning  were,  "  How  does  Fehx  do 
to-day  1    Do  you  think  he  will  get  well  1  and  how  soon  1" 

The  result  of  all  the  consultations  were,  that  Felix 
would,  if  great  care  were  taken  of  him,  get  well ;  but 
that  his  recovery  could  not  be  expected  in  less  than  six 
weeks,  and  that  during  that  time  he  must  not  be  ridden. 

"  Oh !  if  he  does  but  get  well,  I  do  not  mind  that," 
said  Frank.  "  Must  not  ride  him  !  no,  to  be  sure,  not 
till  he  is  quite,  quite  well.  Upon  no  account  I  should. 
But  will  you  take  me  with  you  to  the  stable  to  see  him, 
papa  V 

His  father  did  so,  and  his  mother  was  glad  to  observe 
that  Frank  thought  more  of  the  pain  his  horse  suffered 
than  of  the  loss  of  the  pleasure  of  his  own  rides. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Mary,  "  I  think  Frank  is  not  at  all 
selfish.     I  like  people  who  are  not  selfish." 

The  old  pony  had  been  sold  to  the  clergyman  of  the 
parish,  who  was  very  fond  of  JYank,  and  who,  as  soon 
as  he  heard  of  the  accident  that  had  happened  to  FeUx, 
came  to  offer  to  lend  F'rank  the  pony  every  second  day. 
But  Frank,  who  knew  that  he  wanted  it  for  his  daugh- 
ter, who  was  out  of  health,  thanked  him  with  all  his 
heart,  but  would  not  accept  of  this  kind  offer.  He 
would  put  riding  quite  out  of  his  head  till  Felix  should 
be  well,  he  said,  and  could  make  himself  contented 
without  it. 

"  Mary,  you  know  we  can  find  plenty  of  happy  things 
to  do.  Oh !  my  dear,  there  is  Mrs.  Wheeler's  arbour 
which  I  had  almost  forgotten ;  we  will  set  about  it  di- 
rectly." 

And  so  he  did.  His  father  pleased  with  his  energy, 
lent  him  a  labourer  to  assist  in  making  the  holes,  in 
which  the  first  rods  for  the  arches  were  to  be  put  down. 
With  the  assistance  and  instructions  of  the  gardener's 
basket-making  son,  and  with  vigorous  and  constant  work 
on  his  own  part,  for  an  hour  a  day,  the  arbour  advanced, 
not  perhaps  as  rapidly  as  Frank  had  expected,  but  well 
and  solidly.  When  it  was  closed  in,  withywell-wove 
wickerwork,  Mary  was  brought  to  see  it,  and  not  even 
Mrs.  Wheeler  herself  delighted  in  it  more.  Mary  said 
that  she  would  plant  cuttings  of  ever-blowing  roses, 
and  of  clematis,  and  cuttings  of  honeysuckle,  early  and 
late  blowing  wood-rebine,  so  that  they  might  be,  as  the 


praKK.  339 

gardener  said,  a  succession  of  flowers  in  blow,  both  in 
spring  and  autumn.  The  only  disagreeable  considera- 
tion was,  that  now  was  not  the  proper  season  for  these 
cuttings,  nor  could  they  be  planted  before  next  spring  or 
autumn.  Frank's  mother  said  she  would  give  them 
some  sweetbrier  berries ;  of  these  Mary  thought  but  lit- 
tle ;  but  Frank,  who  had  had  more  experience,  and  who 
recollected  a  sweetbrier  hedge  which  had  grown  up  a 
foot  high  in  one  year,  from  berries  which  he  had  seen 
his  mother  sow,  rejoiced  now  in  the  thoughts  of  putting 
them  into  the  ground  next  spring. 

"  But  when  will  they  come  up  1"  said  Mary. 

"  Next  summer,"  said  Frank :  "  next  autumn  they 
will  be  this  high,  and  the  year  after  they  will  be  that 
high,"  said  he,  marking  different  stages  on  the  wicker- 
work.  ■.'''•* 

"  But  you  will  be  at  school  then,"  said  Mary.     '*  ' 

"  But  1  shall  come  home  in  the  holydays,  shall  not  I, 
mamma?  And  then  I  shall  see  them  and  smell  them 
too ;  besides,  we  are  doing  this  for  Mrs.  Wheeler,  and 
she  will  not  go  to  school  next  year." 

Old  Mrs.  Wheeler,  who  was  just  seated  in  her  new 
seat  in  the  arbour,  rocked  with  laughing  at  the  idea  of 
her  going  to  school  with  Frank ;  though  she  said  she 
was  so  fond  of  him,  God  bless  his  little  bones,  which 
had  worked  so  hard  for  her,  she  would  go  even  to  school 
to  please  him  if  he  asked  her.  Then  she  began  to  tell 
something  of  a  woman  who  had  learned  to  read  in  her 
sixtieth  year.  But  though  Frank's  mother  listened, 
neither  Frank  nor  Mary  paid  much  attention  to  what 
she  was  saying ;  for  Mary  was  sweeping  away  some  lit- 
ter with  a  new  broom,  and  Frank's  mind  had  gone  back 
to  the  sweetbriers  and  to  former  times. 

As  he  was  walking  home,  he  said,  "  Do  you  remem- 
ber, mamma,  the  time  when  you  were  sowing  those 
sweetbrier  berries,  and  I  was  holding  the  little  basket 
for  you  1  I  have  not  forgotten  the  verses  you  then  re- 
peated for  me,  and  that  I  learned  that  day  about  the 
lark,  who  was 

,  -  "  To  come  in  spite  of  sorrow, 

And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow, 
Through  the  sweetbrier,  or  the  vine, 
*;  Or  the  twisted  eglantine." 

Mary  asked,  "  What  is  eglantine  1"  And  Frank  said  he 
knew  she  would  ask  that  question,  and  he  bid  her  guess. 
P8 


840  FRANK.  ' 

She  guessed  that  it  was  woodbine,  honeysuckle.  So 
Frank  had  thought,  he  said,  till  his  mother  that  day 
told  him  that  it  was  sweetbrier.  But  Mary  repeated, 
" '  Twisted  eglantine  .•'  woodbine  twists  more  than  sweet- 
brier,  I  think ;  and  besides,  in  the  line  before,  it  says, 
through  the  sweetbrier  or  the  vine.  Then  you  see  the 
man  mentions  sweetbrier  twice  over." 

"  Very  true,  very  well,  Mary,  indeed !"  said  Frank ; 
"  is  not  it,  mamma,  the  very  thing  the  critic  in  the  book 
said  ?  But  I  can  show  you,  Mary,  in  a  book,  when  we 
go  home,  that  it  is  supposed  eglantine  meant  in  former 
days,  some  other  kind  of  dog-rose,  different  from  sweet- 
brier." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  George 
Wheeler  riding  by  on  his  cart-horse,  who  bid  them  good- 
day  and  trotted  on. 

"  How  merrily  he  goes !  Oh !  when  will  poor  Felix 
trot  as  well  again  V  said  Mary. 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinking,"  said  Frank.  "  But  do  not 
let  us  think  of  him.  Mamma,  I  am  very  glad  we  have 
had  something  else  to  do ;  for  it  would  not  be  of  any  use 
to  Felix  that  1  should  be  unhappy  all  day  long ;  would 
it,  mamma  T  Mamma,  I  think  that  I  had  better  begin  to 
learn  French,  because  Mary  is  learning  it ;  and  she  used 
to  learn  it  when  I  was  out  riding :  and  to  tell  me  some 
of  the  French  words  wlien  I  came  home." 

"  He  will  soon  be  able  to  read  the  fairy  tale  I  am 
reading,  mamma,"  said  Mary,  "  '  The  Golden  Ram.'  But 
first  he  must  go  through  '  ToUes  d* araignies  pour  attraper 
les  mouches,''  Cobwebs  to  catch  flies." 

"Cobwebs!  why  must  I  go  through  themV  said 
Frank. 

"  Because  T  did,"  said  Mary. 

"  It  is  not  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should  begin 
with  the  same  book  tliat  you  read  first,  Mary,"  said  his 
mother;  "but  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  learn  the 
verbs." 

"  Always  those  verbs !"  cried  Frank. 
"  Yes,"  said  his  mother  ;  "  you  know  how  usefiil  it  is 
to  learn  the  verbs,  which  are  perpetually  wanted  in 
every  sentence." 

"  1  know  it,  mamma.  Papa  and  Latin  grammar  taught 
me  that  long  ago.  Colonel  Birch  advised  me  to  learn 
French,  and  told  me  that  he  was  sorry  he  had  not  learn- 
ed it  early ;  for  once,  when  he  was  in  France  and  Spain, 


PRANK.  341 

he  was  very  near  losing  his  life  and  many  men's  lives 
by  not  understanding  French." 

When  they  had  rested  after  this  walk,  and  when 
Frank  had  finished  all  he  had  to  say,  or  to  hear  about 
Felix,  Mary  brought  " Cobwebs  to  catch  flies"  and  sat 
down  beside  him,  waiting  for  the  happy  moment  to  catch 
his  attention. 

"  Read  the  title-page,"  said  Frank.  Since  Ferguson's 
Life  they  had  regularly  reminded  each  other  to  read 
title-pages. 

"  Toiles  cfAraignies  pour  attraper  les  Mouches,  ou  courts 
Dialogues  pour  Vlnstruction  des  Enfans,  depuis  rage  de 
trois  ans  jusqu'a  rage  de  huit.'^ 

Mary  translated  this  as  she  read  on :  "  Short  Dia- 
logues for  the  instruction  of  Children,  from  the  age  of 
three  years  old  to  eight  years  old."  Frank  looked 
proudly  down  upon  the  book,  and  said,  "  Mary,  it  is  too 
little  for  me — three  years  old  indeed !" 

"To  eight?"  said  Mary. 

•'  But  I  am  past  nine,  you  know." 

"  Never  mind  your  age,"  said  Mary.  "  The  easiest 
things  are  the  best  to  begin  with.  First  let  me  read  this 
bit  to  you  about  Tom  and  a  horse." 

"  Tom  and  a  horse  !  Oh  !  what  is  it  V  said  Frank. 

Mary  then  read  the  following  sentences,  which  she 
translated  for  Frank : 

"  Ah  voila  un  cheval,  faime  bien  le  cheval. — Allons  mon- 
sieur, marchez,  allez  le  trot. — Je  ne  vous  ferai  pas  trotter 
dans  les  mauvais  chemins." 

"  Skip  to  Tom  at  the  top  of  the  next  page,"  said  Frank. 

"  Tom  vovs  lavera  les  jambes  et  les  pieds  pour  en  oter  le 
houe  et  le  sable.'''' 

Mary  translated,  and  then  said, 
*    "  You  see  this  Tom  was  very  careful  of  his  horse, 
quite  different  from  your  Master  Tom.     But,  mamma,  is 
not  it  very  extraordinary  that  the  name  should  be  Tom, 
and  about  a  horse !" 

"  No,  Mary,  I  do  not  think  it  very  extraordinary — 
Tom  is  a  common  name." 

"  But  is  not  it  very  odd,  that  Tom  takes  care  of  a 
horse,  ma'am  V 

"  Not  very  odd  :  many  Toms  take  care  of  horses." 

"  But  it  is  curious,  mamma,  that  we  should  see  it  in 
the  book  to-day,  just  when  we  are  thinking  about  Felix 
and  Tom." 

29* 


842  PRANK. 

"  That  was  what  made  you  take  notice  of  it,"  said  her 
mother. 

"  That  is  true,  mamma,  for  I  have  read  it  before, 
twice,  and  I  never  took  notice  of  it  till  now.  But  it 
seems  a  sort  of — 1  do  not  know  how  to  express  what  I 
mean,  mamma." 

"It  is  like  what  papa  observed  yesterday,"  said 
Frank,  "  about  something  which  you  had  been  reading 
of  in  an  old  book,  which  was  the  first  thing  he  saw  when 
he  opened  the  newspaper,  just  after  you  had  done 
speaking.  I  remember  papa  said  this  is  a  coincidence  : 
that  was  the  word,  was  not  it,  mamma  1  and  it  means, 
for  I  asked  him — but  I  don't  recollect  exactly." 

"  The  happening  of  things  at  the  same  time,  that  seem 
to  have  no  connexion,  or  that  really  have  no  connex- 
ion," said  his  mother.  "  But  why  does  Mary  look  so 
wondrous  grave  ?" 

"  I  suppose  she  was  thinking  of  something  very 
wise,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  any  thing  wise,"  said  Mary ; 
"  I  was  only  thinking,  mamma — but  1  know  you  will  say 
it  is  so  very  foolish." 

"  And  suppose  I  do,  if  it  is  not  foolish,  my  saying  so 
will  not  make  it  foolish ;  and  if  it  is,  perhaps  my  point- 
ing it  out  to  you  may  assist  you  to  make  it  wise." 

"  Very  true,  mamma ;  then  you  must  know,  that  a 
few  nights  ago,  the  very  night  before  the  day  that  Fehx 
was  hurt,  I  dreamt,  and  you  know,  mamma,  I  always 
tell  the  exact  truth  about  dreams  as  well  as  about 
every  thing  else — " 

"  Come,"  said  Frank,  "  do,  my  dear,  make  haste  and 
tell  the  dream." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary,  "  I  dreamt  exactly  what  happen- 
ed to  Felix  the  next  day,  that  he  fell  down  and  hurt 
himself  very  much :  so  I  think  dreams  have  something 
to  do  with  what  is  to  happen,  mamma." 

"  What  do  you  think,  mamma?"  said  Frank,  eagerly. 

"  I  think  it  is  more  likely  that  they  have  something 
to  do  with  what  has  happened"  answered  his  mother. 

"  But,  ma'am,  you  know  Felix  did  not  fall  down  till 
the  next  day,  so  her  dream  could  not  have  any  thing  to 
do  with  what  had  happened,  but  it  might  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  what  was  to  come.  You  will  allow 
this  is  good  reasoning,  mamma.  So,  as  grand  people  in 
books  say,  we  may  conclude  that — " 


PRANK.  343 

"  Stay,  my  dear  Frank,"  interrupted  his  mother, "  you 
must  not  skip  to  your  conclusion  so  fast ;  we  are  not  yet 
sure  of  the  facts." 

"  Oh,  ma'am,"  said  Mary,  with  a  look  and  tone  of  in- 
jured innocence,  "  can  you  doubt  my  telling  truth  1" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  my  dear  Mary." 

"  And  yet  you  say  you  do  not  know  the  facts." 

"  I  do  not ;  I  have  not  yet  heard  even  the  dream  ex- 
actly. You  say,  Mary,  that  you  dreamt  exactly  what 
happened." 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  But  I  do  not  know  exactly  what  did  happen ;  if  you 
do,  Mary,  tell  me." 

"  Do  not  you  know,  ma'am,  that  Felix  fell  down," 
said  Frank,  "  and  sprained  his  shoulder." 

*'  But  it  was  not  his  shoulder  that  was  hurt  in  my 
dream,"  said  Mary. 

"  What  then  ?"  said  Frank. 

*'  His  nose,"  said  Mary. 

"  His  nose !"  repeated  Frank,  laughing :  '*  that's  very 
different." 

"  That  is  one  difference,"  said  Mary. 

*'  And  there  were  some  others,"  said  she,  smiling. 
"  Mamma,  in  my  dream,  when  he  fell,  he  tumbled  heels 
over  head — and  twice." 

"  Oh !"  cried  J'rank,  laughing,  "  there  is  another  dif- 
ference, indeed  !  did  you  ever  see  a  horse  tumble  heels 
over  head — twice,  too !" 

"  Let  her  go  on,  my  dear,  and  tell  us  the  dream  with- 
out interruption." 

"  Twice  head  over  heels  I  saw  him  go,  and  it  was  oi\ 
the  grass-plot ;  and  you,  Frank,  were  upon  his  back  the 
first  time,  and  mamma  called  out  to  you, '  Take  care  of 
my  roses,'  which  1  thought  very  odd,  because  I  was 
much  more  afraid  of  your  being  hurt  than  the  roses,  for 
you  were  under  the  horse  ;  but  he  scrambled  up  again 
in  the  oddest  way  !  he  had  hands  something  like  yours, 
but  more  like  monkey's  paws  ;  but  you  were  not  on  his 
back  when  he  got  up  again :  you  were  changed  to  Tom, 
with  his  whip  in  his  hand ;  and,  when  he  slashed  it, 
over  went  the  horse,  head  over  heels  again,  and  Felix 
hit  his  nose  against  the  oddest  thing — the  tea-chest, 
mamma !  and  when  his  nose  began  to  bleed,  I  ran  to 
him,  like  a  goose,  with  my  pocket-handkerchief;  and 
Tom  slashed  him,  and  Frank  tried  to  stop  his  hand; 


344  FRANK. 

Frank  caught  hold  of  the  bridle,  but  Felix  reared  ;  and 
then  Felix  changed  into  Squire  Rogers's  Stamper  ;  and 
as  he  put  out  his  foot  to  knock  Frank  down,  I  was  so 
frightened  1  wakened  suddenly ;  and  I  thought  no  more 
about  it  till  after  breakfast :  the  first  thing  I  heard  was, 
that  Felix  had  tumbled  down  with  Tom,  and  that  he  was 
very  much  hurt.     So  you  see,  mamma — " 

"  Yes,  I  see,  my  dear,  that  this  dream  was  very  far 
from  being  exactly  what  happened  afterward :  but  al- 
most all  the  parts  of  it  you  may  trace  back,  by  your  own 
account,  to  things  that  happened  before." 

She  reminded  Mary  that  Frank  had,  the  preceding  day, 
been  tumbling  head  over  heels  upon  the  grass-plot; 
that  she  had  said,  take  care  of  my  roses;  and  that 
Frank,  showing  his  hands,  said  that  they  looked  like 
monkey's  paws. 

"  And  a  week  ago,"  said  Frank,  "  I  fell  down  and  hit 
my  nose  against  Mrs.  Catharine's  tea-chest,  and  you 
ran  up  with  your  pocket-handkerchief;  and  as  to  Tom's 
slashing,  that  was  very  natural ;  it  came  from  the  de- 
scription I  gave  you  of  his  beating  his  own  horse  at  the 
gate.  As  mamma  says,  almost  the  whole  of  the  dream 
was  from  things  that  had  passed,  oddly  put  together, 
certainly ;  but  there  was  nothing  foretold." 

"  Except  the  chief  thing,  Frank,"  said  Mary,  "  which 
was  the  fall  of  Felix  with  Tom,  and  his  being  hurt — all 
that  came  true !  and  this  is  extraordinary." 

"  Not  very  extraordinary,"  said  Frank  ;  *'  because,  if 
you  recollect,  papa,  the  day  before,  when  he  heard  I  had 
lent  Felix  to  Tom,  said, '  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  some 
accident  happens,  Tom  rides  so  violently ;'  and  I  recol- 
lect, now,  that  I  tumbled  heels  over  head  just  at  that 
time,  and  said,  '  No  papa,  I  hope  not.'  " 

Frank  asked  Mary  if  she  was  now  convinced  that 
things  which  had  passed  had  made  out  her  dream  pretty 
well ;  and  she  said  she  was.  His  mother  observed  that 
it  was  useful  to  look  back,  and  to  trace  dreams  in  this 
manner,  because  it  prevents  our  having  foolish,  supersti- 
tious fears  or  expectations,  that  they  foretel  what  will 
happen.  "  Circumstances,"  as  she  observed, "  do  some- 
times occur  that  are  like  what  we  dream  of;  just  as 
what  happens  one  day  is  like  what  happens  another; 
and  sometimes  coincidences  occur ;  like  Tom  and  the 
horse  in  the  book  being  seen  just  at  the  time  when 
Tom  and  the  horse  were  seen  in  reality ;  but  though 


FRANK.  345 

it  may  be  amusing  to  observe  these  odd  coincidences, 
nothing  can  be  learned  from  them  for  guiding  our  con- 
duct." 

"  No,  mamma,"  said  Frank.  "  But  we  have  run  on  a 
great  way,  from  cobwebs  to  catch  flies  and  the  French 
verbs :  mamma  would  you  really  advise  me  to  begin  to 
learn  French  1" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  I  advise  you  to  begin  if  you 
mean  to  continue,  but  not  else." 

Frank  said  he  did  and  he  would ;  and  Mary  appealed 
to  the  proofs  he  had  given  of  his  perseverance  and 
punctuality  during  the  last  six  long  weeks.  Time  and 
place  were  settled  accordingly,  and  Frank  began,  /  at, 
tu  aSf  U  a,  nous  avons,  vous  avez,  Us  ont. 


"  Here  is  the  engineer's  carriage,  Frank !  come, 
come,"  said  Mary. 

"  But  there's  nobody  in  it  but  himself!"  said  Frank. 
"  His  son  is  not  with  him,  and  yet  he  promised  to  bring 
Lewis." 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  I 
thought  you  promised  to  bring  your  son  Lewis  with 
you." 

"  I  promised  to  bring  him  if  I  could,  but  I  could  not ; 
and  why,  do  you  think  ■?" 

"  I  can't  guess,"  said  Frank,  "  for  I  am  sure  you  have 
room  enough  in  that  carriage  ;  besides,  if  he  had  a  mind 
to  come,  he  could  sit  anywhere,  in  ever  so  little  room, 
as  I  do." 

"  But  Lewis  did  not  choose  to  come,"  said  the  engi- 
neer. 

"  Not  wish  to  come  here,  and  see  Frank  I"  said 
Mary. 

"  I  said,  he  did  not  choose  to  come,"  said  the  engineer ; 
"  I  never  said  he  did  not  wish  to  come,  did  1 1  Did  I, 
my  little  lady  T  We  must  be  accurate  in  these  nice  af- 
fairs." 

"  But  why  did  not  he  choose  to  come  if  he  wished 
it  V  said  Frank. 

"  Because  he  had  a  kind  uncle,  who  was  ill,  and  who 
wished  that  he  should  stay  with  him ;  and  Lewis  stayed 
because  he  thought  it  was  right." 

"  Very  right,"  said  Mary. 
P3 


846  FRANK. 

"  I  like  him  all  the  better  for  it ;  but  will  he  never 
come?"  said  Frank. 

"Yes,  he'll  come  on  Tuesday  by  the  coach.  Will 
you  be  so  good,"  continued  the  engineer,  turning  to 
Frank's  father,  "  as  to  send  a  horse  to  meet  him,  wher- 
ever the  coach  puts  up  1" 

"  Oh  my  poor  Felix !  how  glad  I  should  have  been  to 
have  lent  him,"  thought  Frank  ;  but  he  said  nothing ;  it 
was  too  tender  a  subject. 

Other  means  were  arranged  for  bringing  Lewis,  and 
other  subjects  were  talked  of,  in  which  Frank  and  Mary 
had  no  concern.  They  took  care  not  to  interrupt  the 
conversation,  but  Frank  hoped  that  the  engineer  would 
not  forget  to  question  him  about  the  ecliptic,  and  the 
uses  of  astronomy  and  trigonometry,  which  Mary  was 
sure  that  Frank  understood  now,  since  he  had  explained 
them  so  clearly  that  even  she  could  comprehend  them. 

At  tea  time,  his  friend  the  engineer  turned  to  him,  and 
laughing,  asked  him  if  he  was  or  was  not  now  in  the  sit- 
uation of  "  the  triangle  man.''''  Frank,  who  had  grown  a 
little  more  modest  as  his  knowledge  had  a  little  increas- 
ed, answered  that  he  hoped  he  was  not ;  he  had  read, 
and  he  beUeved  he  understood  all  that  had  been  marked 
for  him. 

Upon  examination,  his  friend  found  that  he  was  now 
quite  clear  upon  all  the  points  to  which  he  had  directed 
his  attention,  and  into  which  his  vain  attempts  to  make 
an  orrery  had  led  him  still  farther  to  inquire. 

"  I  rejoice,  my  dear  Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  that  it 
is  now  in  my  power  to  give  you  pleasure,  and  a  sort  of 
pleasure  which  you  have  in  some  degree  earned  for 
yourself." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  printed  pa- 
per, which  looked  like  a  play-bill.  When  he  unfolded 
and  held  it  before  Frank's  eyes,  the  first  words  he  saw 
in  large  letters  were  Orrery  and  Eidouranion. 

"  Orrery  !  oh  delightful  orrery !"  repeated  Frank,  seiz- 
ing the  paper,  which  his  father  let  fall  into  his  hands. 
Frank  read,  and  learned  that  a  man  by  the  name  of  Bright 
had  brought  an  orrery  to  the  neighbouring  county  town, 
and  that  he  would  show  it,  and  give  an  explanatory  lec- 
ture upon  it  the  following  evening  at  nine  o'clock :  tick- 
ets of  admission,  &c. 

His  father  told  him  that  he  would  give  him  a  ticket, 
and  lake  him  to  see  it. 


PRANK.  847 

"  And  Mary,  papa  1" 

"  And  Mary,  if  it  will  be  any  pleasure  to  her — if  she 
can  understand  it." 

Frank  answered  for  her  pleasure  and  understanding ; 
and  she  pointed  to  a  line  in  the  advertisement,  which 
said  that  the  lecture  would  be  peculiarly  adapted  to  the 
capacities  of  young  people. 

On  Monday  evening  they  all  went  to  see  the  orrery. 
It  was  to  be  shown  in  the  play-house.  They  were  seat- 
ed in  the  box  opposite  to  the  stage,  and  Mary  and  Frank 
were  placed  in  the  front  row,  beside  his  mother ;  his  fa- 
ther and  his  friend  the  engineer,  w^ere  close  behind  them, 
so  that  they  could  answer  their  questions. 

It  was  the  first  time  they  had  ever  been  in  any  play- 
house, and  the  sight  of  the  lamps,  the  lights,  the  com- 
pany, the  boxes,  the  pit,  and  the  great  curtain  before  the 
stage,  occupied  their  attention  fully  for  some  time. 
Presently  they  heard  a  noise  made  by  the  people  in  the 
pit,  knocking  with  their  canes  against  the  ground. 
Frank's  father  told  him  that  this  was  a  sign  that  the  peo- 
ple were  growing  impatient  for  the  curtain  to  draw  up. 
Frank  and  Mary,  who  had  not  yet  finished  counting  all 
the  lamps,  wondered  how  the  people  could  be  so  impa- 
tient. But  while  they  were  counting  the  row  of  lights 
which  were  before  the  stage,  these  began  to  sink  down 
and  the  other  lamps  in  the  house  were  shaded,  so  that 
all  were  nearly  in  darkness ;  and  at  the  same  moment 
soft  music  was  heard,  and  the  curtain  began  to  draw  up. 
The  music  was  from  an  harmonica,  which  was  conceal- 
ed behind  the  scenes.  While  this  soft  music  played,  the 
curtain  drew  up  slowly,  and  they  beheld  two  globes, 
that  seemed  self-suspended  in  air.  One  seemed  a  globe 
of  fire,  with  some  dark  spots  on  its  surface  ;  a  blaze  of 
light  issuing  from  it  in  all  directions,  and  its  rays  half 
enlightened  the  other  globe,  of  w^hich  half  remained  in 
darkness. 

Frank  and  Mary,  in  breathless  admiration,  looked  at 
these  globes,  which  they  knew  represented  the  sun  and 
the  earth ;  and  they  began  to  watch  the  motions  of  these 
orbs,  when  a  man  in  a  brown  coat  came  upon  the  stage, 
with  a  white  pocket-handkerchief  in  his  hand.  As  he  en- 
tered he  looked  back  and  nodded  to  some  one  behind  the 
scenes,  and  at  that  nod  the  globes  representing  the  sun 
and  earth  stood  still.  He  then  blew  his  nose,  which  Mary 
thought  he  might  as  well  have  done  before  he  came  on 


848  FRANK. 

the  stage ;  and  then  he  bowed  to  the  audience,  and  said 
he  had  the  misfortune  to  inform  them  that  he  was  only 
Mr.  Bright's  assistant,  for  Mr.  Bright  himself  could  not 
appear  this  night.  At  these  words  he  was  interrupted 
by  loud  cries  of  "  Off!  offT  from  a  great  part  of  the 
audience,  and  of  hisses  and  beating  of  sticks  against  the 
floor,  while  others  in  the  pit  and  boxes  clapped  their 
hands,  endeavouring  to  overpower  the  hisses.  At  last 
they  were  overpowered ;  and  the  man,  who  had  stood 
bowing  and  looking  very  much  frightened,  could  be 
heard  ;  and  he  began  again  to  speak  in  rather  a  trembling 
voice  ;  he  assured  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  that  Mr. 
Bright  was  really  so  ill  in  bed  with  a  violent  cold,  that  it 
would  have  been  morally,  and  physically,  and  utterly 
impossible  that  he  could  have  appeared'  this  night,  or 
that  his  voice  could  have  had  the  happiness  of  being 
heard  by  the  gentlemen  and  ladies,  if  he  had  attempted 
to  do  himself  the  honour  of  lecturing  them  this  night : 
that  he,  Mr.  Bright's  assistant  and  unworthy  substitute, 
was  therefore  under  the  necessity  of  presenting  him- 
self to  a  generous  and  humane  public,  whose  favourable 
hearing  he  implored.  The  generous  and  humane  pub- 
lic on  hearing  this,  and  being  convinced  that  Mr.  Bright 
was  really  ill,  clapped  with  one  accord  ;  and  Mr.  Bright's 
assistant  bowed  his  thanks,  and  quite  reassured,  he  be- 
gan again  with  "  Gentlemen  and  ladies,  this  is  an  orre- 
ry, gentlemen  and  ladies,  as  I  shall  have  the  honour  of 
explaining  to  you." 

Frank  and  Mary  sat  forward  and  listened.  But  in- 
stead of  explaining  the  orrery,  he  began  to  talk  of  celes- 
tial  harmony,  or  the  music  of  the  spheres,  which  he  told 
them  they  had  just  heard ;  yet  which  had  never  really 
existed,  except  in  the  fanciful  systems  of  the  ancients. 
But  he  forgot  to  tell  what  the  music  of  the  spheres  was 
supposed  to  be. 

Frank  looked  back  in  his  distress  to  his  father,  who 
whispered  that  the  ancients  supposed  that  the  heavenly 
bodies,  in  moving,  made  certain  musical  sounds.  There 
was  no  time  for  more  explanation,  for  the  lecturer  was 
going  on  to  something  new.  He  said  much  of  the  har- 
monic numbers,  and  of  chaos ;  and  so  much  about  the 
Copern.ican  and  Ptolemaic  systems,  and  the  disputes  of 
the  learned,  that  Mary  was  nearly  asleep  before  he  came 
to  the  orrery.  Frank,  too,  was  quite  tired,  for  he  had 
strained  his   attention  listening  to  a  vast  number  of 


FRANK.'  ':Q^ 

words  which  he  thought  were  all  necessary,  and  of 
which  nearly  half  were  nothing  to  the  purpose. 

"  I  wish  he  would  tell  something  about  the  orrery 

before  I  am  quite  fast  asleep,  mamma,"  whispered  Mary. 

"  I  wish  he  would  leave  out  all  about  the  disputes,  or 

knock  down  at  once  all  the  men  that  were  wrong,  papa," 

said  Frank,  "  and  come  to  those  that  were  right." 

At  last  he  came  to  the  right,  as  far  as  we  know  at 
present :  and  then  he  gave  his  nod,  and  the  earth  and 
sun  having  been  released,  they  resumed  their  motions. 
Frank  stood  up,  and  Mary  wakened,  and  they  were  de- 
lighted with  all  they  saw,  as  much  as  they  had  been 
tired  with  all  they  had  heard.  They  saw  the  earth,  as 
it  turned  on  its  axis,  enlightened  on  the  side  next  the 
sun,  and  dark  on  the  other,  representing  day  and  night ; 
and  they  saw,  at  the  same  time,  the  earth  pursue  its  an- 
nual journey  round  the  sun  in  its  path  aslant,  with  its 
north  and  south  pole,  each  alternately  turning  to  the 
sun,  so  as  to  produce  summer  and  winter  for  the  south- 
ern and  northern  hemispheres  (or  halves  of  the  globe). 
And  they  saw  the  sun  in  the  midst  turning  round  slowly.* 
Mary  observed  the  moving  of  the  spots  on  his  face, 
which  made  his  motion  more  apparent.  This  scene 
was  particularly  interesting  to  Frank,  from  the  pains  he 
had  taken,  and  the  various  attempts  he  had  made  to 
understand  and  to  represent  them.  In  the  second  scene 
they  saw  the  earth  and  sun,  with  tlie  addition  of  another 
globe  representing  the  moon;  and  the  object  of  this 
scene  was  to  represent  the  changes,  and  the  causes  of 
the  changes  of  the  moon.  They  saw  the  moon  without 
any  light  of  her  own  receiving  light  from  the  sun.  They 
saw  her  journeying  in  her  monthly  course  round  the 
earth,  sometimes  showing  more,  sometimes  less,  of  the 
enlightened  part.  Next  they  saw  an  eclipse  of  tlie 
moon,  and  they  understood  its  cause.  Whenever  Frank 
found  any  thing  above  his  comprehension,  he  was  not 
ashamed  to  ask  his  father,  or  the  engineer,  who  kindly 
explained  to  him  what  he  wished,  for,  as  they  said,  he 
deserved  it. 

"  Are  you  tired,  Frank  1"  said  his  mother. 
"  Not  in  the  least,  mamma,  thank  you." 
'•  And  you,  Mary,  are  you  awake  or  asleep  1" 
"  I  am  awake  now,  mamma ;  1  was  very  sleepy,  but 
I  am  better  since  I  saw  the  moon  and  the  eclipse." 
*  In  twenty-five  days  and  a  quarter. 
30 


350  PRANK. 

By  this  time  the  lecturer  had  come  to  an  explanation 
.  of  the  cause  of  the  tides,  which  neither  Mary  nor  Frank 
could  comprehend.  His  father  judiciously  and  kindly 
took  them  out,  to  rest  their  attention,  and  refresh  them- 
selves while  this  lasted.  They  went  into  a  cool  room, 
where  they  ate  oranges  and  biscuits,  and  drank  lem- 
onade till  the  tides  were  over.  When  they  returned 
to  the  box,  they  found  that  the  last  scene  was  just  be- 
gun, and  this  wa.s  the  most  beautiful.  It  showed  the 
whole  solar  system,  as  it  is  called,  with  every  planet 
and  satellite  in  their  annual  rotation:  and  there  they 
saw  bright  Venus,  and  red  Mars,  and  Jupiter  with  his 
satellites,  and  Saturn  with  his  ring ;  and  last,  not  least, 
they  saw  a  comet  with  its  bright  tail.  The  curtain  fell, 
and  Frank  and  Mary  were  sorry,  for  they  were  now 
much  more  awake  than  they  had  been  at  first.  It  was 
very  different  with  some  of  the  other  little  children,  who 
had  not  been  awakened  by  the  moon  or  by  the  eclipse, 
nor  even  by  the  comet,  but  were  now  in  Mary's  late  con- 
dition, dead  asleep,  in  various  attitudes.  Of  some,  only 
the  hairy  heads  could  be  seen  in  the  front  of  the  boxes  : 
others  lolling  on  their  mothers'  laps,  or  propped  against 
fathers'  shoulders,  or  stretched  at  lubber  length  upon 
the  benches,  filled  the  places  of  those  who  had  fairly 
given  up,  and  had  been  carried  home  before  the  lecture 
was  done.  When  the  curtain  fell,  numbers  of  little 
bodies  reappeared,  and  rose,  stretching,  gaping,  wri- 
thing :  and  were  pushed,  pulled,  lifted,  or  hauled  over 
the  benches  and  along  the  passages. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Frank,  as  soon  as  they  were  all  seated 
in  the  carriage,  "  do  not  you  think  it  was  a  pity  to  bring 
such  very  little  children  to  this  lecture  1  Did  you  see 
that  they  were  all  asleep  1" 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  what,  mamma,"  said  Mary,  "  I 
should  have  been  just  in  the  same  condition  if  Frank 
had  not  explained  a  great  deal  beforehand ;  and,  after 
all,  I  was  rather  sleepy  at  first  while  the  preface  was 
speaking." 

Frank,  and  his  father,  and  mother,  and  the  en^neer, 
all  agreed  in  expressing  their  dislike  to  long  prefaces  for 
young  people :  and  Frank  added,  for  Mary's  comfort, 
that  even  he,  after  all  his  reading  in  Scientific  Dialogues, 
had  much  difficulty  sometimes  in  understanding  both  the 
machine  and  the  lecture. 


TRANK.  '  351 

"  And,  besides,  the  man  often  lowered  his  voice  so 
much  that  I  could  scarcely  hear  him,"  said  Mary. 

"  You  remember,  mamma,"  continued  Frank,  "  how  I 
was  puzzled  at  first  reading  Scientific  Dialogues;  and 
how  much  more  difR<^ult  it  would  have  been  here,  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  lights,  and  noise,  and  new  things,  to 
have  understood  it  all :  I  never  could,  I  am  sure,  unless 
I  had  read  the  description  and  explanation  beforehand." 

Frank  thanked  his  friend  the  engineer  for  the  trouble 
he  had  taken  to  mark  the  passages  for  him. 

His  father  and  mother  now  began  to  talk  about  some- 
thing that  did  not  interest  the  children,  and  Mary  fell 
asleep,  and  slept  till  Frank  wakened  her,  saying,  "  Mary 
the  moon  is  rising !"  and  Mary  started  up,  and  looked  at 
the  moon. 

"  How  beautiful !"  said  she  :  "  and  how — "  sublime! 
she  would  have  said,  but  she  did  not  know  the  word  well 
enough :  she  knew  the  feeling.  She  asked  if  she  might 
let  down  the  glass,  which  Frank  accomplished  for  her 
directly ;  it  was  a  fine,  clear,  frosty  night,  and  she  stood 
perfectly  still  and  silent,  enjoying  the  feeling  of  the 
fresh  air,  and  the  sight  of  the  moon,  the  blue  sky,  and 
the  innumerable  stars. 

"  Mary,"  said  Frank,  "only  think  of  that  moon's, be- 
ing another  world  I" 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  imagine  it,"  said  Mary. 

"  But  it  is  really  so,"  said  Frank :  "  and  all  these  stars 
are  worlds !  How  wonderful !  What  is  the  orrery  com- 
pared to  this,  Mary !"  said  Frank,  in  a  very  serious  tone. 
"  How  grand !  how  different  from  any  thing  that  the 
most  ingenious  man  in  this  world  can  make  !" 

They  were  both  silent  again  for  a  little  while. 

"  What  have  you  been  thinking  of,  that  has  kept  you 
so  silent,  Mary  1" 

"  Mamma,  I  was  thinking  of  a  great  many  things — 
of  the  stars,  and  of  the  moon,  and  of — at  the  very  in- 
stant you  spoke  I  was  thinking  of  some  verses  upon  the 
moon." 

"  I  know,"  said  Frank — 

"  '  As  when  the  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  night — ' " 

•*  Not  those,"  said  Mary,  '« but  the  others  which  I 
learnt  from  your  book,  Frank : — 

"  '  By  thy  command  the  moon  as  daylight  fades, 
Lifts  her  broad  circle  in  the  deep'ning  shades; 


888  FRANK. 

Array'd  in  glory,  and  enthron'd  in  light,  / 

She  breaks  ihe  solemn  terrors  of  the  night; 

Sweetly  inconstant  in  her  varying  flame, 

She  changes,  still  another,  yet  the  same ! 

Now  in  decrease,  by  slow  degree  she  shrouds 

Her  fading  lustre  in  a  veil  of  clouds; 

Now  of  increase  her  gathering  beams  display 

A  blaze  of  light,  and  give  a  paler  day; 

Ten  thousand  stars  adorn  her  glitt'ring  train, 

Fall  when  she  falls,  and  rise  with  her  again. 

«*«*♦**♦# 

Through  the  wide  heav'ns  she  moves  serenely  bright, 

Queen  of  the  gay  attendants  of  the  night ; 

Orb  above  orb  in  sweet  confusion  lies, 

And  with  a  bright  disorder  pamts  the  skies.'  "* 


"  Good  morning  to  you,  papa;  do  you  know  there  is 
a  man  in  the  hall  who  is  waiting  to  speak  to  you,  sirl" 
said  Frank ;  "  a  very  hoarse  man,  papa." 

"  Coarse  or  fine,  he  must  not  be  kept  waiting,  Frank," 
said  his  father,  rising  from  the  breakfast-table. 

"  Hoarse,  not  coarse^  I  said,  papa :  shall  I  ring,  or  go 
myself  and  ask  him  to  come  in." 

"  Does  he  look  like  a  gentleman  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  papa ;  but  he  speaks  like  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  Then  go  and  tell  him  we  are  at  breakfast,  and  ask 
him  to  walk  in,  if  he  pleases  ;  and  if  he  does  not  choose 
to  come  in,  I  will  go  to  him." 

Frank  went,  and  returned  with  a  person  who,  as  Mary 
thought,  exactly  suited  Frank's  description.  It  was  Mr. 
Bright,  the  lecturer,  to  whom  the  orrery  belonged,  and 
who  had  been  prevented  from  lecturing  himself  by  hav- 
ing a  severe  cold.  He  was  still  so  hoarse  that  he  could 
scarcely  be  heard,  but  he  hoped  that  he  should  recover 
his  voice  in  a  day  or  two ;  and  his  present  object  was 
to  announce  his  intention  of  giving  a  course  of  lectures 
on  natural  philosophy,  and  of  adapting  some  to  the  use 
of  young  people.  He  hoped  for  subscriptions  and  en- 
couragement ;  and  he  particularly  wished  for  advice, 
he  said,  from  those  who  had  children,  and  who  knew 
what  was  likely  to  suit  their  taste  and  comprehension. 
Frank's  father  and  mother  were  pleased  with  the  mod- 
est, sensible  manner  in  which  he  spoke :  and,  after 
looking  over  his  prospectus,  or  view  of  the  subjects  on 

•  Paraphrase  of  Ecclesiasticus. — Bsoomk'sPoeiu. 


FRANK.  35d 

which  he  intended  to  lecture,  they  pointed  out  what 
they  thought  might  be  best  adapted  to  different  ages ; 
they  advised  dividing  the  lectures  into  those  fit  for  the 
younger  and  the  elder  auditors,  and  recommended  that 
these  should  be  given  on  separate  days ;  and  that  those 
for  the  younger  children  should  never  exceed  half  an 
hour  at  a  time. 

Mary  thought  this  an  excellent  regulation.  She  and 
Frank  listened  to  all  that  was  said,  while  his  father  and 
mother  and  the  engineer  advised  with  the  lecturer  upon 
what  subjects  and  experiments  should  be  chosen. 

She  was  glad  that  some  facts  were  to  be  told  of  the 
history  of  birds,  and  bees,  and  dogs,  and  elephants,  and 
different  animals.  And  Frank  rejoiced  that  something 
was  to  be  said  of  roofing  houses,  and  of  windmills,  and 
of  the  sails  of  ships.  And  he  was  glad  to  hear  that  this 
gentleman  had  an  electrical  machine,  for  he  wished 
exceedingly  to  feel  the  electrical  shock,  and  to  see  the 
electrical  spark,  and  an  electrical  horserace,  and  several 
entertaining  wonders  of  which  he  had  heard  rumours. 
Mary  was  not  very  anxious  to  feel  the  electrical  shock, 
but  she  was  particularly  happy  to  hear  that  there  was 
to  be  an  airpump. 

She  had  been  told  that  in  an  airpump,  a  guinea,  in 
falling  to  the  bottom,  makes  no  more  noise  than  a 
feather.  She  wished  to  see  and  hear  if  this  were  true. 
She  had  also  read  in  one  of  her  little  books,  a  curious 
anecdote  about  a  cat  who  had  saved  her  life  when  put 
into  an  airpump,  by  stopping  with  her  paw,  the  hole 
out  of  which  the  air  was  going.  Mary  wished  to  see 
whether  any  other  cat  would  do  the  same :  yet  she 
hoped  no  cruel  experiments  would  be  tried — none  such 
as  even  a  mouse  would  petition  against. 

The  lecturer  smiled,  and  said  he  presumed  the  young 
lady  alluded  to  "  The  Mouse's  Petition,"  which  Dr. 
Priestley  found  one  morning  on  his  table. 

When  the  lecturer  took  leave,  he  said  that  he  should 
have  pleasure  in  showing  Frank  the  orrery  again,  and 
in  letting  him  see  the  concealed  machinery  by  which  it 
was  moved.  He  said  that  he  had  heard  from  his  assist- 
ant how  very  attentive  Frank  had  appeared  to  the  lec- 
ture ;  that  without  knowing  who  he  was,  he  had  taken 
notice  of  him  as  the  most  attentive  of  all  the  young 
auditors ;  and  that  he  had  afterward  inquired,  and  had 
been  told  who  Frank  was.  He  had  observed  that  al 
30* 


354  FRANK. 

most  all  the  other  children  were  either  inattentive  or 
asleep. 

Mr.  Bright  promised  that  the  children's  lecture  should 
not  last  longer  than  half  an  hour ;  and  with  this  agree- 
able promise  he  departed,  after  thanking  Frank's  father 
and  mother  for  their  advice  and  assistance,  and  saying 
that  he  wished  that  all  the  young  people  whom  he  had 
to  teach,  had  had  some  previous  instruction  before  they 
came  to  hear  public  lectures. 

Frank  was  glad  that  the  lectures  were  not  to  begin 
till  Wednesday,  because  by  that  time  the  engineer's  son 
would  have  arrived. 

On  Tuesday  morning,  just  as  they  were  going  to  lun- 
cheon, his  father  exclaimed, 

"  Here's  Lewis !" 

Mary,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  Frank,  felt  a  little  afraid, 
for  they  had  heard  the  engineer  say  that  his  son  was 
translating  Milton's  Samson  Agonistes  into  Latin  verse, 
and  reading  Herodotus  in  Greek,  and  the  G3dipus  Ty- 
rannus  of  Sophocles :  they  fancied  that  he  must  be  too 
grand  and  learned  for  them.  They  were  agreeably  sur- 
prised when  they  saw  his  good-natured,  good-humoured 
face.  Mary  thought  he  did  not  look  in  the  least  con- 
ceited, nor  too  wise  and  solemn.  He  could  stand,  and 
sit,  and  speak  like  anybody  else,  but  quite  differently 
from  Master  Tom !  His  manner  of  speaking  especially 
was  veiy  gentlemanlike. 

The  moment  that  luncheon  was  finished,  Frank  asked 
him  if  he  would  like  to  go  out  and  walk. 

Yes,  he  said  he  should. 

Mary,  who  recollected  that  Master  Tom  had  told 
Frank  that  he  would  be  laughed  at  by  schoolboys  if  he 
walked  with  little  girls,  did  not  offer  to  follow  them,  till 
Lewis,  looking  back  in  a  very  good-natured  manner,  said 
to  Frank,  "  Is  not  your  sister  coming  with  you  V 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Frank.  "  Come  Mary.  She  is 
not  my  sister,  but  it  is  just  the  same." 

Lewis  said  he  had  sisters  of  his  own,  to  whom  he  was 
always  glad  to  go  home  in  the  holydays ;  but  his  home 
was  a  great  way  off — he  never  went  there  more  than 
once  a  year.  His  sisters  always  took  care  of  his  gar- 
den for  him  when  he  was  away,  and  he  was  very  fond 
of  it  and  of  them.  Frank  and  Mary  were  sorry  that  it 
was  winter,  because  their  gardens  and  island  would  not 
be  worth  looking  at  at  this  season ;  however,  he  liked 


FRANK.  355 

seeing  them,  and  said  that  msuiy  things  here  put  him  in 
mind  of  his  own  home. 

Wiien  they  came  in  after  this  walk,  Lewis  went  to 
his  father;  and  as  Mary  was  running  up  stairs  to  put 
by  her  bonnet,  Frank  called  to  her,  and  said,  "  Mary, 
how  do  you  like  him  ■?" 

"Very  well,"  said  Mary;  "  was  not  it  good-natured  of 
him  to  ask  me  to  walk  with  you  1  and  when  I  was  fol- 
lowing you  through  the  wood,  he  held  back  the  boughs 
for  me.     He  is  not  at  all  a  bear." 

"  No,"  said  Frank.     Mrs.  J .  may  say  what  she 

pleases,  but  all  boys  are  not  naturally  little  bears.    No, 
nor  even  all  schoolboys." 

"  But  Frank,"  said  Mary,  "  you  did  not  ask  him  many 
questions  about  school  and  his  schoolfellows." 

"  My  dear,  how  could  I,  when  most  of  the  time  we 
were  hare  and  hounds,  or  at  the  gardens  1  I  had  not 
lime." 

"  But  why  do  you  not  follow  him  to  his  room  now  V 

*'  Because  his  father  is  with  him ;  and  we  must  let 
him  have  his  own  talk  with  his  father,"  said  Frank. 

"  Certainly ;  but  I  do  not  think  his  father  is  with  him. 
There  he  is,  going  down  stairs.  Now,  Frank,  run  up, 
and  do  ask  him  every  thing  about  school." 

Frank  found  Lewis  alone  in  his  room,  but  not  in  a 
condition  to  answer  questions  about  school,  for  he  was 
finishing  a  little  note  for  home :  a  candle  lighted  on  the 
table,  and  a  packet  of  letters  open. 

"  I  see  you  are  busy,"  said  Frank.  "  I  only  came  to 
ask  questions  about  school,  but  I  will  not  talk  to  hinder 
you." 

Lewis  begged  him  to  come  in,  and  said  that  talking 
never  hindered  him  ;  but  that  he  could  not  be  sure  of 
his  having  any  sense  for  answers,  till  he  had  sent  off 
the  letters  for  home,  which  his  father  had  left  him  to 
finish  and  seal. 

Before  he  sealed  his  little  note  he  began  to  shuffle 
about  the  room  in  search  of — 

"  What  V  said  Frank. 

"  My  carpet-bag,"  said  he. 

Frank  found  it  for  him.  It  was  stuffed  so  as  never 
carpet-bag  was  stuffed  before  :  yet  that  is  a  bold  word. 
Out  of  it  he  dragged  shoes,  boots,  shirts,  books,  trou- 
sers, jackets,  innumerable  little  parcels,  and  strange 
things  directed  to  different  people,  and  all  these  he  be- 


356  FRANK. 

gan  to  kick  about,  and  tumble  over,  in  search  of  some- 
thing. 

"  What  ?"  said  Frank. 

"  A  bit  of  yellow  silk,"- said  Lewis,  rummaging  on  in 
the  greatest  hurry. 

"  Oh  the  post  will  be  too  late  ."' 

And  Frank  tumbled  over  the  things  too  to  help  him, 
but  without  well  knowing  what  it  was  he  was  looking 
ff-'-.  but,  at  last,  turning  one  of  a  pair  of  new  boots  up- 
side down,  and  saying  to  himself  "  Poor  Felix !"  out 
dropped  something  like  a  lock  of  yellow  hair,  upon 
■which  Lewis  pounced,  put  it  into  his  note,  and  sealed 
the  letters. 

"  It  is  very  well,"  said  Frank,  "  you  knew  what  you 
were  looking  for;  I  did  not.  I  never  should  have 
known  that  was  yellow  silk.  But  how  you  burn  your 
fingers  with  the  wax,  without  minding  it !  Give  me  the 
packet,  and  I  will  run  down  and  put  it  in  the  post-bag 
for  you." 

"  And  pray,"  said  Lewis,    "  come  back  again." 

He  did  so  ;  and  now  Lewis  had  sense  to  answer  ques- 
tions. 

The  result  of  all  the  questions  asked  and  answers 
given,  was,  that  Lewis  liked  home  much  better  to  be 
sure  than  school ;  but  he  liked  his  own  school  better 
than  any  other. 

Boys  were  never  flogged  there  for  liiiiking  mistakes 
in  Latin  grammar,  or  for  any  thing  about  learning. 

There  was  no  flogging  except  for  the  most  disgrace- 
ful faults,  suoh  as  theft  and  lying. 

He  liked  liis  master  as  well  as  he  could  like  a  school- 
master, though  he  had  very  little  to  do  with  him,  he 
was  a  very  clever  man,  a  very  good  man  ;  he  was  just, 
and  had  no  favourites. 

Frank  begged  that  Lewis  would  tell  him  the  names 
of  all  his  schoolfellows. 

I    Lewis  answered  that  this  would  not  be  soon  done ; 
for  there  were  some  hundreds. 

"  Some  hundreds  !"  exclaimed  Frank.  "  All  in  one 
house  !     What  a  house  it  must  be !" 

Before  Frank  recovered  from  his  surprise,  the  dinner- 
bell  rang,  and  he  went  down  stairs. 

The  long  winter  evening  would  have  been  a  doleftil 
affair  to  Master  Tom,  or  with  him.  Mary  remembering 
Tom's  declaration,  th^t  he  bad  "  enough  and  too  much 


FRANK.  357 

of  books  at  school,"  and  that  schoolboys  never  touched 
one  in  the  holydays,  resolved  that  she  would  not  mea 
tion  any,  or  even  look  towards  their  bookcase ;  and  she 
thought  it  would  not  be  civil  to  read,  and  begged  that 
Frank  would  not.  But  Lewis  went  to  the  bookcase  of 
his  own  accord,  and  asked  if  they  would  lend  him  any 
thing  entertaining  to  read.  Then  Mary  quickly  took 
down  their  best  books,  and  spread  them  before  him; 
and,  far  from  looking  at  them  with  the  disgust  and  dis- 
dain with  which  Tom  had  surveyed  her  pile  of  litera- 
ture, he  examined  each.  He  knew  them  almost  all, 
even  Bingley's  History  of  Quadrupeds.  This  was  a 
disappointment  to  Mary  ;  but  then,  if  he  had  read  them 
all,  it  was  a  comfort  to  find  that  he  liked  those  best 
which  Frank  had  preferred.  There  was  one  of  her 
books  on  insects,*  which  he  had  not  seen  before,  and 
she  began  to  talk  to  him  of  butterflies,  and  caterpillars, 
and  spiders.     Frank  whispered, 

"  My  dear,  those  things  are  too  little  for  him." 

"  No,"  Lewis  said,  "  not  in  the  least  too  little :"  he 
confessed  he  knew  scarcely  any  thing  about  them ;  he 
did  know  something,  though,  of  silkworms ;  he  and 
several  of  the  boys  at  his  school  had  some. 

"  Silkworms  at  school !  and  at  a  boy's  sciiool,"  said 
Mary. 

"And  at  a  school  with  hundreds  of  boys!"  added 
Frank.     "  I  never  should  have  thought  it." 

Yet  so  it  was.  And,  to  Mary's  astonishment,  Lewis 
knew  how  they  were  to  be  fed  with  mulberry-leaves ; 
and  how  the  silk  was  to  be  wound  from  the  cocoons. 
"  And  1  have  wound  a  great  deal  of  it  myself.  I  sent 
home  some  to  my  sister  to-day.  That  was  the  yellow 
silk,  Frank,  which  you  saw." 

He  hoped  that  he  had  another  bit  left  for  Mary,  and 
he  ran  up  stairs  to  look  for  it,  and  Frank  ran  after  him, 
and  they  again  searched  among  the  scattered  contents 
of  the  bag,  and  at  last  found  a  card  of  silkworms'  silk, 
which  had  been  left  as  a  mark  in  "  Ali  Pasha,"  a  prize 
poem.  Mary  wondered  how  boys'  great  fingers  could 
wind  such  delicate  silk !  Fine  as  the  cobwebs  in  the 
telescope,  she  was  going  to  say,  but  she  changed  it  into 
"  the  finest  cobweb  I  ever  saw." 

She  was  so  much  pleased  with  this,  that  she  wished 

*  Dialogues  on  Entomolo|gy. 


96^  PRANK. 

to  have  some  silkworms  to  take  care  of  herself,  espe- 
cially as  their  friend  the  gardener  had  a  mulberry-tree  ; 
but  Lewis  advised  her  not.  She  asked  why  ^  He  hesi- 
tated to  answer;  but  when  she  pressed,  he  replied 
"  that  they  were  very  dirty,  had  a  disagreeable  smell, 
and  were  apt  to  eat  too  much,  and  sometimes  eat  till 
they  burst."  Any  one  of  these  reasons,  but  particiilarly 
the  last,  would  have  been  enough  for  Mary.  To  put 
the  gluttonous  silkworms  out  of  her  head,  she  opened 
one  of  her  favourite  books,  and  fortunately,  this  was  one 
of  which  Lewis  never  had  heard.  It  opened  at  the  his- 
tory of  a  canary  bird,  who  could  spell  the  longest  word 
that  could  be  required.  For  instance,  Constantinopoli- 
ianus,  not  speaking,  but  picking  out  the  letters  one  by 
one  from  a  pasteboard  alphabet  laid  before  it  on  the  table. 

Mary  seeing  that  Lewis  was  amused  with  this,  could 
not  refrain  from  turning  over  the  leaf  to  other  anec- 
dotes in  honour  of  horses,  asses,  tigers,  lions,  ants,  robin- 
redbreasts,  water-wagtails,  and  innumerable  others. 

Frank's  mother  smiled,  and  said,  "  My  dear  Mary, 
have  mercy :  though  Lewis  listens  with  so  much  good- 
nature, all  these  animals  cannot  be  interesting  to  him : 
he  must  be  tired." 

Lewis  however  declared  that  he  was  not  tired,  and 
begged  to  have  this  book,  and  any  which  Mary  could 
lend  him  about  animals.  As  it  happened,  he  had  at 
present  a  particular  interest  on  his  own  account  in 
reading  histories  of  animals ;  for  he  and  all  the  boys  in 
his  class  at  school  had  a  thesis  to  write,  and  it  was  to 
be  in  verse.  Each  was  to  choose  for  his  theme  any 
bird,  beast,  fish,  or  insect,  which  they  liked  best.  Now 
his  first  difficulty  was  which  bird,  beast,  fish,  or  insect 
he  should  choose ;  and  an  hour  of  this  evening  was 
merrily  spent  by  Frank,  Mary,  and  Lewis,  in  pleading 
in  honour  of  insect,  bird,  beast,  and  fish. 

Frank's  father  and  mother,  and  the  engineer  and  all, 
condescended  to  join  in  the  pleadings.  The  engineer 
chose,  or  would  have  chosen,  the  half-reasoning  ele- 
phant for  his  hero,  and  had  Indian  anecdotes,  credible 
and  incredible,  to  tell ;  and  much  to  say  about  the  ele- 
phant's judging  of  the  strength  of  bridges  by  only  put- 
ting his  foot  on  them  ;  and  drawing  cannon  for  armies, 
where  no  power  of  horse,  or  man,  or  mechanism  could 
avail ;  but  scarcely  had  the  engineer  pronounced  the 
words, "  I  choose  the  elephant,"  when  Lewis  exclaimed, 


PRANK.  359 

"  Oh,  sir,  yoti  can't  have  the  elephant,  for  he's  en- 
gaged to  young  Little,  one  of  my  friends." 

"  Then  I  will  take  the  beaver." 

"  But,  my  dear  father,  the  beaver  is  engaged  too,  to 
George  Ruddiman." 

"  Well — may  I '  learn  of  the  bee  to  build,  the  nautilus 
to  sail  V  " 

"No,  you  must  not,  papa;  the  nautilus  and  the  bee 
were  engaged  three  deep."    •. 

"  The  whale,  then  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  Milliken  has  the  whale." 

The  pelican  Frank's  mother  would  have  taken,  but 
the  pelican  belonged  to  a  particular  friend,  Edgeware, 
and  could  not  be  had.  She  then  chose  the  sea-bear, 
who  so  heroically  defends  her  cubs :  but  Frank  laughed 
her  out  of  the  sea-bear,  by  saying  that  she  must  leave 

that  for  Mrs.  J ,  who  maintained  that  all  boys  are 

bears,  and  her  own  in  particular. 

Frank's  father  took  the  lion  for  his  share,  and,  with 
the  help  of  Androcles  and  Scipio  Africanus,  hoped  to 
make  much  of  him. 

But  he  was  obliged  to  give  up  the  lion  and  Scipio ;  for 
loe  Thompson  had  made  fifty-nine  verses  upon  him  al- 
ready ;  and,  after  that,  would  it  be  fair  to  take  him  from 
JoeT 

So  many  of  the  best  beasts,  birds,  fishes,  and  insects 
being  thus  pre-engaged  to  particular  friends,  and  others 
being  objectionable  as  too  common,  and  others  as  too 
difficult,  and  quite  unmanageable  in  poetry,  the  choice, 
which  had  at  first  appeared  almost  impossible,  from  the 
infinite  variety  of  the  animal  world,  was  now  limited, 
and  Frank  began  to  complain  that  there  was  really 
nothing  left. 

His  mother,  however,  was  content  with  the  eider- 
duck,  who,  robbed  perpetually  of  the  soft  bedding  for 
her  ducklings,  plucks  herself  at  lasty  even  to  death,  for 
her  young. 

Frank's  father  supported  the  bird  of  Jove,  thunderbolt 
in  claw,  and  would  not  give  him  up,  though  Lewis 
warned  him  that  young  Flaxman  had  a  great  mind  to 
him. 

The  engineer  was  allowed  to  have  the  ant,  because 
Milliken,  who  had  had  him,  could  make  nothing  of  him, 
and  gave  him  up  as  too  old  and  commonplace.  But  the 
engineer's  ant  proved  to  be  far  from  commonplace :  he 


560  PRANK. 

was  fresh  from  Africa,  of  the  great  family  of  the  termi- 
tes bellicosi,  whose  houses,  palaces,  or  pyramids,  are 
from  twelve  to  twenty  feet  high;  whose  kings  and 
queens,  if  travellers'  reports  say  true,  are  lodged  in  royal 
chambers,  well  deserving  the  name,  with  gothic  arches, 
fretted  roofs,  and  long-drawn  aisles,  with  subterranean 
galleries,  water-proof  and  fire-proof,  and  magazines 
well  stored  with  provisions,  which  to  the  naked  eye 
seem  but  raspings  of  wood,  or  plants,  but  seen  through  a 
microscope,  resemble  tears  of  gum  and  amber,  and 
some,  still  finer,  sparkhng  like  sugar  about  preserved 
fruits.  , 

And  when  he  came  to  the  sparkling  sugar,  it  appeared 
that  the  engineer  had  not  laboured  Ihis  part  in  vain,  for 
Mary  exclaimed, 

"  Beautiful !" 

"  Sublime,  too,  the  poet  may  make  the  termites,"  con- 
tinued the  engineer.  "  When  they  march  out  of  their 
palaces,  their  march  is  to  be  stopped  neither  by  earth, 
fire,  nor  water.  And  if  man  makes  war  upon  them  in 
their  fortresses,  he  is  forced  to  bring  out  his  cannon  be- 
fore he  can  dislodge  or  conquer  them." 

The  cannon  astonished  Mary.  "  Cannon  against  ants  I 
against  an  insect !" 

Lewis  thought  that,  according  to  his  father's  descrip- 
tion, this  species  of  ant  would  really  make  a  great  figure 
in  poetr)^  and  he  had  just  decided  to  take  the  termites 
for  his  subject,  when  Frank  produced  a  formidable  rival, 
in  the  dog  of  Herculaneum. 

Mary  sprang  up  with  joy  when  she  heard  this  dog 
named  by  Frank,  and  from  her  own  book ! 

*'  How  could  I  forget  the  dear  dog  Delta !  but  I  am 
glad  that  Frank  remembered  him." 

Delta  was  a  famous  dog,  whose  skeleton  was  found 
in  the  ruins  of  Herculaneum,  stretched  over  the  body 
of  a  boy  of  twelve  years  of  age. 

Delta's  collar,  which  is  now  to  be  seen  in  the  gallery 
of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  tells,  by  its  Greek  inscrip- 
tion, that  this  dog  belonged  to  a  man  of  the  name  of 
Severinus,  whose  life  the  dog  three  times  saved,  and 
history  informs  us  that  he  saved  him  once  by  dragging 
him  out  of  the  sea,  when  nearly  drowned,  once  by 
driving  off  four  robbers,  and  the  third  time  by  destroying 
a  she-wolf,  who  was  going  to  tear  him  to  pieces. 

Delta  was  afterward  given  by  Severinus  to  his  son, 


PRANK.  361 

and  he  grew  so  fond  of  the  boy  that  he  would  take  food 
only  from  his  hand ;  and  when  at  last  he  was  unable  to 
save  the  child,  the  faithful  animal  would  not  forsake  his 
young  master,  but  died  along  with  him. 

Frank's  father  observed,  in  favour  of  this  subject  for 
Lewis's  poem,  that  it  admitted  of  classical  allusions,  and 
■wakened  ancient  associations ;  if  he  remembered  right- 
ly, the  dog's  master,  Severinus,  had  attacked  the  she- 
wolf's  little  ones,  in  a  grove  sacred  to  Diana. 

Frank  and  Mary  did  not  quite  understand  this:  but 
Lewis  rejoiced  in  it,  and  the  dog  of  Herculaneum  had 
all  voices,  all  hearts  in  his  favour,  tiU  the  dog  of  Athens 
was  named  by  Frank's  mother. 

Mary  found  him,  and  his  history  was  read,  as  fol- 
lows : — 

" '  A  boy  at  Athens,  of  a  very  amiable  character,  had 
a  dog  that  had  been  his  playmate  from  the  cradle ;  the 
animal  was  so  fond  of  his  young  master  that  he  scarce- 
ly ever  quitted  him ;  he  accompanied  him  in  all  his 
sports,  and  whenever  he  saw  him  again,  after  a  short 
absence,  he  expressed  his  pleasure  by  a  thousand  ca- 
resses. He  always  ate  his  meals  with  him,  slept  at  his 
feet  at  nigth,  rose  with  him  in  the  morning,  and  both 
began  their  day  by  playing  with  each  other. 

" '  One  day  this  young  Athenian,  looking  out  of  the 
window  at  some  exhibition  that  was  passing  along  the 
street,  overreached  himself,  and  losing  his  balance,  fell 
from  the  upper  story  of  the  house  to  the  ground,  and 
was  killed  upon  the  spot.  Phileros  (that  was  the  name 
of  the  dog)  immediately  leaped  after  him,  and  broke  his 
leg  with  the  fall.  But,  occupied  wholly  with  anxiety 
for  his  master,  he  crawled  about  him,  licked  him  with  a 
mournful  howling,  and  crept  under  his  body,  as  if  to  en- 
deavour to  raise  him  from  the  ground. 

" '  During  the  preparations  for  the  funeral,  Phileros 
would  not  quit  the  lifeless  body  of  his  master,  and  fol- 
lowed the  procession  that  bore  him  to  the  grave. 
When  he  came  to  the  place  of  burial  he  set  up  a  lam- 
entable cry,  and  remained  for  five  days  lying  upon  the 
grave.  Compelled  by  the  cravings  of  hunger,  he  then 
returned  to  the  house,  ate  a  small  quantity  of  food,  after 
which  he  ran  to  the  apartment  which  the  child  had  in- 
habited, seemed  to  seek  everywhere  for  his  young 
friend,  and  in  a  short  time  died  of  grief.' " 

Whether  from  the  maimer  in  which  it  was  read,  or 
Q  31 


362  FRANK. 

from  the  really  touching  circumstances  of  the  story, 
Lewis  now  inclined  to  the  dog  of  Athens,  for  he  said 
that  Phileros  sacrificed  himself  voluntarily,  and  died  of 
grief  for  his  master :  but  that  Delta  could  not  help  being 
swallowed  up  by  an  earthquake,  and  that  his  being 
found  near  his  master's  body,  was  a  proof  only  that  he 
happened  to  be  near  him  at  the  time  of  the  first  shock : 
he  could  not  run  away  afterward.  Frank,  however, 
observed,  that  Mary's  book,  and  other  books,  tell  of  an- 
imals who  have  escaped  from  earthquakes,  by  running 
away  when  they  felt  the  first  Symptoms,  as  is  frequently 
the  case  before  they  are  noticed  by  man. 

"  Then,"  observed  Lewis,  "  Delta  was  to  blame  for 
not  having  snuifed  out  the  approach  of  the  earthquake  ; 
this  was  a  proof  of  his  want  of  sagacity  at  least." 

But  Frank  would  not  admit  this,  for  he  said  that  no- 
body could  prove,  that  Delta  did  not  snuflF  out  the  dan- 
ger in  time.  It  was  most  likely  that  the  dog  had  warn- 
ed the  boy,  and  done  what  he  could  to  make  him  un- 
derstand, and  to  carry  him  away ;  but  Frank  supposed 
that  Delta  could  not  make  the  boy  comprehend,  or  fol- 
low him. 

Lewis  answered,  that  this  was  supposing  the  boy  to 
be  stupid  or  obstinate ;  but  why  should  they  give  up  the 
boy,  to  make  out  that  the  fault  was  not  in  the  dog  1 

Frank  contended  that  this  was  very  fair,  because 
they  knew  nothing  about  the  boy,  and  they  might  sup- 
pose him  to  be  obstinate  and  stupid,  rather  than  give  up 
the  character  of  the  dog  of  Herculaneum. 

"  What  good  had  the  dog  of  Athens  ever  done  in  his 
life  1  He  broke  his  leg,  indeed,  by  jumping  out  of  a 
window ;  but  that  did  no  good  to  his  master ;  but  the 
dog  of  Herculaneum  had  three  times  saved  his  master's 
life ;  and  at  last  was  he  to  be  accused  of  not  doing 
enough,  because  a  foolish  boy  would  not  Usten  to  him 
at  the  right  moment  ?     Was  this  just  ?" 

"  No,  indeed !"  said  Mary.     "  Poor,  poor  Delta!" 

Lewis,  though  he  thought  he  could  say  more  for  the 
dog  of  Athens,  took  for  his  subject  Delta,  the  dog  of 
Herculaneum. 


"  Good  night,  mamma,"  said  Mary,  as  she  was  going 
to  bed,  after  the  debate  about  the  dogs.  "  What  shall  I 
do  about  the  thumb  of  my  glove  1    Look,  ma'am,  it  is 


FRANK.  363 

burst  quite  across,  I  have  mended  it  twice.     I  cannot  go 
to  the  lectures  to-morrow  in  such  a  glove,  can  I  ■?" 

"  No,  my  dear  :  I  observed  that  you  had  mended  it 
as  well  as  you  could,  and  I  have  provided  another  pair 
for  you." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  thank  you.  Are  the  gloves  in  this 
parcel  V 

"  Yes,  and  you  may  open  it." 

While  Mary  was  opening  the  parcel,  which  had  come 
from  the  neighbouring  town,  the  engineer  said  that  he 
must  set  off  very. early  in  the  morning  about  his  busi- 
ness, and  that  he  should  not  return  perhaps  till  night. 
Lewis  had  a  great  mind  to  go  with  him ;  but  this  could 
not  be,  his  father  said ;  and  Frank  inquired  whether  he 
would  like  to  go  with  them  to  the  lectures. 

Frank's  father  observed  that  it  was  hard  upon  poor 
Lewis  to  force  him  in  his  holydays  to  go  to  lectures. 

"  Not  lectures  ;  only  experiments,"  said  Mary,  look- 
ing up  from  her  parcel. 

"Your  changing  the  name  makes  no  difference  to 
him,"  said  Frank's  father,  smiling.  "What  does  he 
choose  ■?" 

Lewis  said  that  as  he  could  not  go  with  his  father, 
he  should  like  to  go  with  Frank  to-morrow.  That  he 
could  not  tell  whether  he  should  like  the  lectures  or  the 
experiments  till  he  had  seen  them  ;  and  that  if  he  found 
them  stupid  the  first  day,  he  would  not  go  the  next. 
He  very  much  regretted  that  Felix  was  lame,  it  would 
have  been  so  pleasant  to  have  ridden  to  these  lectures ; 
but  he  hoped  they  might  walk,  which  he  liked  much 
better  than  going  in  a  carriage.  Frank  begged  to  walk 
with  him  ;  it  was  only  five  miles,  and  Frank  had  walk- 
ed four  the  other  day  (which  now  grew  to  be  four  and 
a  half),  and  back  again,  without  being  tired  in  the 
least. 

"  The  gloves  fit  perfectly  well,"  said  Mary.  "  Look, 
mamma." 

But  her  countenance  suddenly  changed  as  her  eye 
fixed  on  the  paper  in  which  the  gloves  had  been  wrap- 
ped.' It  was  a  handbill  or  advertisement,  which,  in  cap- 
ital letters,  announced  the  arrival  of  a  juggler,  who  would 
the  next  day,  at  ten  o'clock  precisely,  exhibit  wonderful 
sights  with  cups  and  balls,  and  tricks  with  cards.  He 
would  tell  any  lady  or  gentleman  what  cards  they 
thought  of. 

Q  2 


364  PRANK. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Mary,  "  I  wish  we  could  see  both  the 
juggler  and  the  experiments,  but  we  cannot ;  how  un 
lucky  that  they  are  both  to  be  the  same  morning,  and 
at  the  same  time. — we  cannot  have  both." 

"  Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  would  you  rather  see  this 
juggler's  tricks,  or  the  experiments  ?  You  have  heard  a 
list  of  both." 

Frank  hesitated. 

"  Look  neither  to  the  right,  nor  to  the  left,  my  boy,  but 
straight  forward ;  the  question  is  not  which  you  think 
Mary  would  like,  nor  which  you  think  Lewis  would 
like,  nor  which  you  think  we  should  admire  you  the 
most  for  choosing.  I  ask  you  to  tell  me,  honestly,  which 
you  like  best  yourself." 

"  Honestly,  then,  papa,  the  juggler  I  would  rather  see, 
if  I  am  to  see  but  one,  and  for  once — I  know  it  is  fool- 
ish, but  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  Besides,  it  is  not  so  very  foolish,  I  think,"  said 
Mary,  "  because  we  can  read  about  Mr.  Bright's  exper- 
iments in  books,  cannot  we,  mamma '?  If  we  miss  see- 
ing the  lecturer,  we  have  the  books  ;  but  we  cannot  see 
the  juggler  in  a  book." 

"  Well  reasoned,  little  Miss  Mary,"  said  the  engineer. 

"  So  Frank  is  not  foolish,  is  he,  papa  ?"  said  Mary. 

"  He  is  honest,  at  all  events,"  said  his  father, "  and  able 
to  speak  his  mind  plainly,  which  I  like." 

But  Frank  said  he  regretted  the  experiments,  and  he 
wished  to  see  the  electrical  machine,  and  to  feel  the 
shock.     Mary  much  regretted  the  airpump  and  the  cat. 

The  engineer,  who  had  been  pleased  with  Frank's 
honesty,  and  with  Mary's  reasoning,  said,  that  he  hoped 
he  could  settle  the  business  to  their  satisfaction,  and 
manage  so  that  they  should  see  and  hear  all  they  wish- 
ed. He  should  be  up  very  early  in  the  morning,  and 
must  go  through  the  county  town,  where  he  could  see 
the  lecturer,  and  would  persuade  him  to  put  off  the  ex- 
periments for  the  young  people  till  the  next  day,  which 
would  be  for  his  own  interest ;  as  it  would  be  danger- 
ous for  him  to  come  into  competition  with  the  juggler, 
as  probably  most  children,  if  they  were  permitted  to 
choose,  would  make  Frank's  choice. 

This  arrangement  promised  satisfaction  to  all  parties. 
The  next  morning  the  ever  good-natured  engineer  re- 
membered their  pleasure  in  the  midst  of  all  his  own 
business,  and  sent  back  a  little  pencilled  note,  which 


FRANK.  365 

Frank  received  at  breakfast-time,  and  which  set  all 
hearts  at  ease.     It  was  as  follows : — 

"  The  philosopher  has  been  wise  enough  to  yield  the 
first  day  to  the  juggler ;  secure  that  the  second  will  be 
all  his  own." 

And  so  it  proved.  The  young  people  were  at  first  ex- 
tremely amused,  by  seeing  the  juggler  play  his  feats 
with  cups  and  balls,  and  his  tricks  upon  cards  ;  but  when 
they  knew  that  it  was  all  deception,  or  when  they  were 
told  how  these  tricks  were  performed,  there  was  an  end 
of  the  wonder  and  the  pleasure. 

The  experiments  shown  by  the  natural  philosopher 
were  not  so  amusing,  and  did  not  appear  so  wonderful 
at  first ;  but  both  Frank  and  Mary  agreed  that  they  liked 
them  better  and  better  as  they  went  on,  because,  as 
they  said,  there  was  no  cheating  in  these ;  they  were 
true ;  might  be  of  advantage  to  them  afterward  in  con- 
versation, in  reading;  and,  as  Frank  observed,  they  might 
perhaps  be  useful  to  them  in  trying  experiments  after- 
ward for  themselves. 

"  For,"  as  he  said,  "  why  should  not  we  try  experi- 
ments when  we  grow  up,  as  well  as  other  people  ?" 

Frank  was  somewhat  elated  by  perceiving  that  at  this 
first  lecture  he  understood  as  well,  if  not  more  quickly, 
than  Lewis,  who  was  a  year  older,  and  who  had  been 
at  school.  But  at  school  his  attention  had  been  turned 
to  other  subjects,  and  he  had  never  had  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  any  experiments  before. 

It  had  often  been  proposed,  he  said,  that  they  should 
have  at  his  school,  some  lectures  and  experiments  on 
natural  philosophy ;  and,  he  believed,  it  was  to  be  next 
half  year.  Now  that  he  found  these  were  entertaining, 
he  was  determined  he  would  subscribe  if  the  lecturer 
should  come. 

In  their  walk  home,  after  the  first  of  these  lectures, 
Frank  had  a  great  deal  of  conversation  with  Lewis 
about  school ;  that  is  to  say,  Frank  asked  Lewis  a  mul- 
titude of  questions,  some  of  which  Lewis  answered 
readily  and  clearly ;  but  to  others  he  replied  with  more 
caution  and  reserve.  On  all  that  concerned  the  lessons, 
and  the  plays,  and  the  hours  for  work  and  play,  and  the 
laws  and  punishments,  he  was  full  and  explicit ;  and 
this  was,  for  the  present,  quite  enough  to  satisfy  Frank. 
The  new  plays,  or  the  plays  which  were  new  to  him, 
first  fixed  his  curiosity ;  he  wanted  immediately  to  see 
31* 


366  PRAKK, 

and  to  learn  them  all.  Some  of  these,  Lewis  said,  he 
could  easily  show  him ;  marbles  and  ball,  for  instance, 
but  others  could  not  be  played  for  want  of  more  boys. 

With  ball  Frank  was  well  acquainted ;  but  Lewis 
doubted  whether  he  knew  the  last  fashions  of  ball-play- 
ing at  school.  When  the  subject  of  the  plays  and  games 
was  exhausted,  Frank  went  back  to  the  books. 

"  But  I  am  very  much  surprised,"  said  he,  "  that  you, 
Lewis,  do  not  dislike  our  books.  And  I  wonder  you  are 
so  fond  of  reading  English." 

"  Why  should  not  I  be  fond  of  reading  English !  Am 
not  I  an  Englishman  1"  said  Lewis,  rather  bluffly.  "  What 
do  you  take  me  fori" 

"  I  do  not  take  you  for  any  thing  else,"  said  Frank ; 
and  Lewis's  i>luff  look  went  off,  and  with  a  good-humour- 
ed smile  he  said, 

"  Oh !  well,  go  on." 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  continued  Frank,  "  that  I  was 
surprised,  because  Tom  told  us  that  schoolboys  never 
read  any  thing  but  Latin;  that  they  have  no  English 
books  at  school,  nor  time  for  them." 

"  Whoever  Tom  may  be,  he  is  mistaken  there,"  said 
Lewis,  "  or  he  exaggerates ;  he  may  speak  of  his  own 
school  if  he  pleases,  and  perhaps  he  tells  truth  about 
that ;  but,  at  ours,  I  know  the  boys  have  a  library  of 
their  own,  of  excellent  English  books,  to  which  any 
subscribe  who  like  it,  and  almost  all  do  subscribe.  We 
have  above  a  thousand  volumes,  several  entertaining, 
and  I  assure  you,  some  very  valuable  books." 

Lewis,  after  the  first  angry  contradiction  of  Tom's 
slander  against  schools,  was  careful  to  tell  the  exact 
fact  in  his  o^vn  case.  He  remembered,  he  confessed, 
that  when  he  first  went  to  school  he  had  not  had  any 
time /or  English,  or  for  thinking  of  entertaining  books ; 
it  was  as  much  as  ever  he  could  do  to  get  through  his 
Latin  lessons  and  Latin  grammar. 

Now  he  had  got  over  the  first  difficulty  he  had  more 
time,  and  could  read  when  the  books  were  entertaining; 
on  Thursday  and  Saturday  evenings,  which  were  holy- 
days,  he  was  always  happy  to  have  an  entertaining 
book  if  the  day  was  wet.  But  Lewis  honestly  con- 
fessed that  on  those  holyday  evenings,  in  general,  he 
loved  out-of-doors  bodily  exercise,  riding  if  he  could 
have  it ;  because,  said  he,  "  we  have  so  much  to  do  of 
hard  Latin  and  Greek  work,  bodily  exercise  rests  us 


PRANK.  367 

best.  By-the  by,  we  have  a  workshop,  and  carpenter's 
tools,  and  two  or  three  lathes.  It  is  a  reward  to  us  to 
work  in  the  workshop,  and  a  great  pleasure  it  is.  The 
idle  fellows  can  never  get  to  the  lathe.  Now  1  know  a 
boy  who,  when  he  first  came  to  our  school,  was  ex- 
ceedingly idle,  and  hated  Latin,  because  he  had  been 
flogged  so  often  for  not  having  his  lessons,  at  the  school 
where  he  was  before  he  came  to  ours.  But  he  loved 
turning  particularly ;  and  he  was  so  anxious  to  get  to 
the  lathe,  that  he  set  about  his  Latin  lessons  in  earnest, 
and  now  he  scarcely  ever  misses  one. 

"  At  school,^  continued  Lewis,  "  I  like  working  in 
the  workshop  belter  than  reading ;  but  in  the  hblydays 
I  like  reading  best.  In  the  Christmas  vacation,  in  the 
long  winter  evenings,  I  am  very  fond  of  reading,  espe- 
cially when  I  have  my  sisters  or  somebody  to  talk  to 
about  books.  Then  all  I  knew  before  I  went  to  school 
comes  back  again.  That  sister,  or  cousin,  or  whatever 
she  is  of  yours,  that  good-natured  little  Mary,  will  be  a 
great  pleasure  to  you  in  the  holydays,  and  she  will  love 
reading  enough,  and  not  too  much  neither ;  too  much 
of  a  good  thing,  you  know,  is  as  bad  as  too  little.  So," 
cried  Lewis,  turning  suddenly  and  catching  hold  of  the 
branches  of  a  tree,  "  what  do  you  think,  Frank,  of  climb- 
ing this  tree  V 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Frank. 

And  after  this  they  had  many  climbing  matches  at 
home,  Frank  showing  that  he  would  not  be  outdone  by 
his  companion,  either  in  spirit  or  dexterity. 

But,  alas !  there  could  be  no  riding.  Poor  Felix  was 
not  able  to  contribute  to  their  amusement,  nor  they  to 
his  relief.  Judges,  or  at  least  doctors,  had  differed  much 
as  to  the  mode  of  his  treatment ;  one  advised  that  the 
lame  leg  should  be  hung  in  a  sling,  and  that  Felix  should 
be  kept  in  the  stable ;  another  was  sure  that  he  would 
never  get  well  unless  he  were  turned  out  to  grass.  The 
horse  and  Frank  seemed  to  be  of  this  latter  opinion ; 
therefore  Felix  was  turned  out  into  a  paddock  near  the 
house,  which  he  had  all  to  himself,  lest  any  other  ani- 
mal should  hurt  him.  Tom  and  his  groom  came  to  see 
him  once,  but  Fehx  showed  such  signs  of  dislike  that 
they  never  repeated  their  visit.  Every  morning  Frank 
and  Mary  used  to  go  to  see  him  ;  the  moment  Frank  ap- 
peared at  the  gate  of  the  field,  the  horse  knew  his  voice, 
and  neighed  in  sign  of  pleasure,  and  would  try  to  come 


36S  PRANK. 

towards  him  as  fast  as  his  sprained  shoulder  would  per- 
mit. Mary  gathered  for  him  handfuls  of  fresh  grass, 
and  he  always  took  them  from  her  with  the  greatest 
politeness ;  though  he  had,  as  Frank  observed,  the 
whole  field  before  him  all  day  long.  He  would  now, 
even  rub  his  nose  against  Lewis,  as  if  he  knew  by  in- 
stinct, Mary  said,  that  Lewis  was  Frank's  friend.  Some- 
thing, perhaps,  was  to  be  attributed  to  the  piece  of  bread 
which  Lewis  constantly  brought  him  for  breakfast. 
Colonel  Birch  came  on  purpose  to  see  Felix ;  and  cheer- 
ed his  young  master  with  the  assurance,  tliat  he  would 
certainly  get  quite  well  in  time." 

In  the  meanwhile  the  colonel  was  well  pleased  with 
both  the  boys  for  their  freedom  from  selfishness,  ob- 
serving that  their  chief  concern  was  for  the  horse  and 
not  for  themselves.  He  would  have  lent  them  a  horse 
of  his  own,  but,  as  he  could  not  offer  two,  the  friends 
did  not  wish  to  accept  of  it.  He  did,  however,  what 
was  still  better  for  them  ;  he  allowed  them  to  ride  in  the 
riding-house  belonging  to  the  barracks.  There  they 
had  the  advantage  of  some  instructions  from  an  excel- 
lent master,  and  were  amused  by  seeing  various  feats 
of  horsemanship,  and  all  the  exercise  of  the  manege. 
Mary  could  not  mix  in  any  of  Lewis  and  Frank's  bois- 
terous plays.  Wrestling  and  boxing  she  knew  were 
not  fit  for  girls,  though,  as  she  heard,  they  were  very 
good  for  boys :  but  she  could  not  like  such  amusements. 
There  were  others,  however,  more  tempting,  where 
agility  and  spirit  were  more  required  than  masculine 
force ;  for  instance,  there  was  a  play  called  "  Follow 
the  leader,"  for  which  Frank  was  eager,  and  in  which 
Mary  longed  to  join.  The  leader  is  to  lead  the  way  as 
fast,  and  as  far,  and  as  long  as  he  pleases,  and  wherever 
he  chooses,  and  the  more  difhcult  and  hazardous  the 
path,  the  more  glorious  to  follow  him.  An  excellent 
play  this  is  for  boys,  but,  as  Frank's  mother  said,  not 
for  girls,  as  prudence  is  more  necessary  for  women  than 
courage ;  it  stands  higher  in  their  list  of  mvst  wants. 
The  slightest  hint  of  what  was  right  was  sufficient  for 
Mary,  though  she  regretted  that  she  could  not  now  play 
so  much  with  Frank  as  she  used  to  do ;  yet,  if  it  was 
for  his  good,  she  was  satisfied ;  and,  if  it  made  him 
happy,  she  was  glad ;  and  often,  though  she  did  not 

Elay,  she  had  as  much  pleasure  in  looking  on.  She  sat 
y,  the  little  judge  of  arts  and  arms ;  and  she  was  a 


PRANK.  (369 

very  good  judge,  especially  where  Frank  was  concern- 
ed: she  observed  that  Lewis  was  constantly  fair  and 
kind  to  him.  Lewis  did  laugh,  to  be  sure,  sometimes, 
for  no  mortal  could  help  it,  as  he  said,  at  the  odd  way 
in  which  Frank  made  his  first  attempts  at  some  of  his 
school  games ;  yet  Lewis's  way  of  laughing  was  never 
illnatured ;  and  he  kept  his  word,  and  laughed  no  more 
than  was  quite  good  for  Frank. 

"  He  must  learn  to  bear  to  be  laughed  at,"  sjiid  he, 
"  before  he  goes  to  school." 

Between  the  times  of  their  boys'  plays,  they  were 
glad  to  rest  with  other  amusements  and  employments, 
and  in  these  they  were  always  anxious  that  Mary  should 
share.  After  having  once  or  twice  tried  follow  the  leader, 
they  left  it  off;  they  said  it  could  not  be  well  played 
without  more  boys.  Lewis  did  not  want  to  have  every 
thing  in  his  school  fashion  or  his  own  way ;  he  readily 
joined  in  all  that  Mary  and  Frank  had  been  doing  before 
he  came.  He  helped  them  in  all  their  in-doors,  and  all 
their  out-of-doors  work.  At  their  island,  when  Frank 
was  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  Mary  Friday,  Lewis  was  the 
savage  who  left  the  print  of  his  foot  in  the  sand ;  he 
would  even  be  a  cannibal  if  they  desired  it.  At  hare 
and  hounds,  he  transformed  himself  at  pleasure  into 
hare  or  hound,  and,  whichever  he  was,  he  proved  him- 
self best  of  his  kind.  Who  could  have  thought  that  he 
had  translated  Samson  Agonistes  into  Latin,  or  read 
CEdipus  Tyrannus  in  Greek  T 

During  a  clear  hard  frost  of  eleven  days'  continuance, 
they  walked  many  miles  a  day:  how  many  the  total 
amounted  to,  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  day^  the  pru- 
dent historian  forbears  to  record :  it  is  but  justice  to  the 
accuracy  of  the  pedestrians  to  state,  that  when  the 
length  of  one  of  these  walks  was  questioned,  and  when 
it  was  in  consequence  measured  with  the  engineer's 
way-wiser,  it  was  found  to  be  a  quarter  of  a  mile  and 
one  furlong  more  than  they  had  asserted  it  to  be.  With- 
out insisting,  however,  upon  the  wonder  and  glory  of 
the  length  of  these  walks,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
they  were  liked  by  all,  and  contributed  to  health,  gayety, 
and  good-humour. 

But  frost  cannot  last  for  ever,  or,  if  it  did,  we  might 
grow  tired  of  it.  Snow,  threatening  to  be  a  heavy 
snow,  began  to  fall. 

Q3 


'37D  PRANK. 

"And  there  must  be  an  end  of  all  our  delightful 
walks !"  said  Frank. 

But  there  was  some  pleasure,  Mary  thought,  even  at 
the  moment  he  spoke,  in  looking  at  the  feathery  flakes 
as  they  fell  thick  and  thicker,  white  on  grass,  tree, 
shrub,  changing  in  a  few  minutes  the  appeareftice  of  all 
things.  And  Lewis  saw,  in  the  snow,  the  promise  of 
snowballs  of  prodigious  size,  "  if  it  would  but  continue 
long  enough."  It  did  continue  long  enough.  The 
third  morning  all  was  snow  as  far  as  they  could  see. 

When  the  snow  was  shovelled  from  the  windows, 
and  from  the  walk  near  the  house,  there  was  fine  diver- 
sion in  making  and  throwing  snowballs,  and  Frank  bore 
stoutly  the  pelting  of  the  pitiless  storm,  proud  to  prove 
that  he  could  stand  as  well  even  as  Lewis,  who  had 
stood  the  snowballs  of  two  winters  at  school. 

The  pelting  over,  the  friends  joined  in  making  a  ball 
of  enormous  size,  which  at  last  they  could  not  roll, 
even  with  the  help  of  any  length  of  lever  which  they 
could  employ :  leaving  it  during  the  night,  they  next  day 
found  it  frozen  fast  to  the  ground. 

Frank  next  suggested  the  making  a  statue  of  snow, 
such  as  he  had  seen  in  one  of  the  vignettes  to  Bewick : 
they  set  about  it;  legs,  arms,  trunks,  and  head  they 
moulded : — 

"  They  work'd,  and  wonder'd  at  the  work  they  made." 

But  when  they  attempted  to  stick  the  limbs  and  body 
together,  difficulties  increased,  and  the  limbs  were  dis- 
torted by  every  pinch  or  squeeze  which  impatience  or 
awkwardness  hazarded.  One  arm  was  shrunk  to  half 
the  size  of  the  other,  and  the  neck  absolutely  melted 
away  under  the  warmth  of  Frank's  hands,  before  the 
head  could  be  made  to  stand  rightly  upon  the  shoulders ; 
the  delicacy  of  the  face,  too,  it  must  be  confessed,  was 
damaged  in  fruitless  attempts  to  put  on  a  becoming  hat, 
which  was  necessary  to  hide  something  misshapen  in 
the  top  of  the  head.  At  last  the  hat  was  fixed,  and  the 
head  firm,  the  bridge  of  the  nose  repaired,  and  the 
wasted  arm  restored.  When  the  whole  was  finished, 
the  artists  went  to  call  their  judge  and  admirer,  Mary, 
who  came  out  shivering,  for  it  was  ten  degrees  below 
the  freezing  point :  yet,  always  kind,  she  came  with  the 
best  intentions  possible,  to  be  pleased.    But  lo!  the 


statue  was  overturned,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  frag- 
ments stood  Frank's  dog  Pompey. 

"  Oh,  Pompey  !  what  have  you  done  !" 

Sir  Isaac  Newton's  magnanimous  conduct  to  his  dog 
Diamond  scarcely  exceeded  Frank's  forbearance  on  this 
occasion. 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  in  despair ;  then  playfully 
pelted  Pompey  away  with  the  man's  head,  renewing  the 
charge  with  the  legs  and  arms,  as  fast  as  he  could 
mould  them  into  balls. 

"  After  all,"  said  Frank,  "  the  face  of  this  snow  man 
was  frightful :  we  will  make  a  better  to-morrow."  But 
a  thaw  came  on  in  the  night,  and  they  were  forced  to 
abandon  their  design. 

In  the  last  week  of  Lewis's  holydays,  Frank  and  he 
were  anxious  to  enjoy  a  pleasure,  of  which  they  had 
been  deprived  by  the  thaw — the  pleasure  of  skating. 
Frank's  mother  had  expressed  some  fears  of  the  danger 
of  this  amusement :  but  his  father,  on  the  contrary  side 
of  the  question,  had  observed,  that  boys  must  run  some 
hazards,  or  else  they  would  become  cowardly.  It  was 
settled  that  they  might  skate  when  a  certain  watering- 
place  for  the  horses  should  be  sufficiently  hard.  It  was 
shallow,  and  the  boys  could  not  easily  drown  them- 
selves there,  even  if  the  ice  should  break.  This  general 
permission  gained,  there  was  but  one  point  unsettled — 
when  would  the  ice  be  sufficiently  hard,  and  who  was  to 
judge  of  that ! 

One  morning,  very  early  for  a  winter  morning,  that 
is,  soon  after  daybreak,  Lewis  rose  and  looked  out  of 
his  windows,  then  wakened  Frank,  told  him  it  was  a 
hart  frost,  and  bid  him  get  up  and  come  out  and  skate, 
for  he  was  sure  that  at  this  time  the  ice  was  quite  strong 
enough.  Frank  was  eager  to  try  his  new  skates  ;  and 
though  he  had  some  scruples,  for  he  was  not  clear  that 
he  ought  to  go  without  having  had  his  father's  express 
permission,  he  did  not  tell  his  friend  his  doubts,  but 
dressed  himself  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  followed  Lewis, 
accompanied  by  his  dog  Pompey.  The  dog  contented 
himself  with  sitting  by,  watching  his  master  sliding 
about.  Frank  had  several  falls,  but  he  was  up  again 
soon,  and  but  little  hurt ;  and  he  was  so  much  delighted 
with  the  exercise  and  with  his  success,  that  the  falls 
went  for  nothing.  One  part  of  the  ice  was  more  ex- 
posed to  the  beams  of  the  sun  than  the  rest,  and  Lewis 


^72  yRANK. 

warned  him  that  he  thought  it  was  in  that  spot  begin- 
ning to  crack.  Frank  took  his  advice,  and  stopped,  and 
began  to  try  how  soft  and  how  hard  the  ice  was  in  dif- 
ferent places.  In  the  spot  on  which  the  sun  shone  the 
ice  cracked  when  he  struck  it,  and  a  large  piece  fell  in. 
Frank  exulted  in  his  own  and  his  friend's  prudence,  in 
having  stopped  in  time. 

They  took  off  their  skates,  and  began  to  walk  home- 
ward, till  suddenly  Frank  perceived  that  his  dog  was  not 
following  them:  he  called  "Pompey!  Pompey!"  but 
no  Pompey  came  in  answer  to  the  call.  They  went 
back  to  look  for  him,  but  they  could  not  see  him  any- 
where on  the  road  or  in  the  fields.  They  went  to  the 
place  where  they  had  been  skating,  and  they  heard  a 
noise  under  the  ice ;  Pompey  had  fallen  into  the  hole, 
and  had  floated  underneath  the  ice  ;  they  looked  in  at 
the  hole,  and  saw  him  struggling  :  Frank,  exceedingly 
alarmed,  called  to  him,  and  stretched  his  arm  as  far  as 
ever  he  could  under  the  ice  to  reach  him,  and  Pompey 
made  fresh  efforts;  but  he  was  somehow  jammed  be- 
tween stones,  or  entangled  in  weeds ;  he  could  not  get 
out,  nor  could  Frank  reach  him,  nor  could  Lewis. 
Lewis  tied  a  stone  in  the  corner  of  his  handkerchief, 
and  threw  the  heavy  end  into  the  pool,  jerking  it  under 
the  ice  towards  the  corner  where  the  dog  lay,  but  in 
vain  ;  Pompey  could  not  reach  it !  once  he  just  caught 
it,  but  he  let  it  go  when  Lewis  pulled ;  he  had  no  long- 
er strength  to  hold  it. 

At  this  instant  they  heard  the  bark  of  a  dog  in  the 
field  next  to  the  road  ;  and  Frank,  leaping  up  on  the  top 
of  the  bank,  saw  a  woodman  and  his  dog  crossing  the 
field.  Frank  called,  roared  to  him,  but  he  was  walking 
away  from  them,  and  he  plodded  on  without  hearing 
any  thing  but  his  own  whistling.  Lewis  happily  recol- 
lected a  whistle  he  had  in  his  pocket,  and  he  whistled 
loud  and  strong :  the  woodman  looked  back,  and  saw 
the  two  boys  making  signals  with  hats  and  handker- 
chiefs, and  he  came  running  as  fast  as  he  could.  "When 
he  heard  what  Avas  the  matter,  he  jumped  over  the 
hedge  to  their  assistance,  and  with  his  hatchet  broke  the 
ice  in  several  places,  Frank  all  the  while  calhng,  to  beg 
he  would  take  care  not  to  kill  the  dog,  and  pointing  with 
his  stick  to  the  spot  under  which  Pompey  lay.  When 
this  was  uncovered,  there  he  lay,  indeed !  quite  motion- 
less.   The  woodman  took  him  up,  but  no  signs  of  life 


PRANK.  373 

appeared.  They  held  him  with  his  head  downward,  the 
water  poured  from  his  mouth,  but  no  breath,  no  warmth. 
The  woodman  offered  to  carry  him  to  his  hut  in  the 
wood,  which  was  about  a  mile  off,  and  to  lay  him  before 
the  fire.  But  Frank  thought  it  best  to  carry  him  home 
to  his  own  good  Mrs.  Catharine,  and  home  they  carried 
him  with  all  possible  expedition. 

Mary,  from  her  window,  saw  them  from  afar,  and 
went  down  to  the  hall  to  meet  them,  eagerly  asking 
what  had  happened  to  Pompey,  and  why  Frank  carried 
him.  But  when  she  saw  his  condition,  and  Frank's 
sorrowful  countenance,  she  asked  no  more ;  she  ran  for 
Mrs.  Catharine,  and  every  remedy  was  tried  which  the 
Humane  Society  advise  for  the  recovery  of  the  drown- 
ed. Pompey  was  dried,  rubbed  with  salt,  and  wrapped 
in  a  warm  blanket,  air  was  blown  into  his  mouth  and 
nostrils,  but  for  some  time  no  signs  of  life  appeared ; 
and  Frank,  Mary,  and  Lewis,  by  turns,  exclaimed  in 
despair, 

"  He  is  dead !  he  is  quite  dead !  he  will  never  move 
again !" 

But  Mrs.  Catharine  desired  them  to  be  patient:  a 
slight  heaving  of  the  breast  was  seen ;  she  held  a  feath- 
er to  the  nostrils,  the  feather  moved ;  Mary  clapped  her 
hands  with  joy,  and  Frank  exclaimed,  "  He  breathes  !" 
Convulsive  twitchings  in  the  legs  followed,  the  eyes 
opened,  and,  by  degrees,  life  returning,  Pompey  recover- 
ed sufficiently  to  raise  himself  up,  to  know  Frank,  to 
wag  his  tail,  and  to  lick  Mrs.  Catharine's  hand.  In  the 
course  of  an  hour  he  was  able  to  stand,  walk,  eat,  and 
drink :  he  was  pronounced  by  Mrs.  Catharine  to  be  out 
of  all  danger ;  and  great  was  the  joy  of  his  young  mas- 
ter and  his  friends  on  again  receiving  his  caresses. 

No  sooner  was  the  dog  safe,  than  Frank's  mother  be- 
gan to  inquire  how  he  had  come  into  danger,  and  desired 
to  hear  every  particular  of  what  had  happened.  Frank 
was  aware  that  she  would  be  displeased  at  his  having 
gone  out  to  skate  without  distinct  permission,  and  be- 
fore the  safety  of  the  ice  had  been  examined ;  but  in- 
stead of  endeavouring  to  excuse  himself,  he  was  anx- 
ious to  tcike  his  full  share  of  blame.  His  father  decreed, 
as  a  punishment  for  their  impatience  and  imprudence, 
that  they  should  not  skate  again  during  the  remainder 
of  Lewis's  holydays.  Lewis  seemed  more  sorry  for 
Frank  thaii  for  himself,  for  he  thought,  and  repeatedly 
32 


"374  FRANK. 

said,  that  he  had  been  the  means  of  bringing  him  into 
this  scrape. 

But  whatever  disappointment  or  punishment  young 
people  suffer  together  for  their  faults,  while  they  have 
the  consciousness  that  they  have  spoken  exactly  the 
truth,  have  not  attempted  to  shift  the  blame  from  them- 
selves, and  have  behaved  honourably,  they  are  secure 
of  one  lasting  comfort,  that  their  confidence  in  each 
other  and  their  mutual  affection  will  be  increased. 
Even  in  such  slight  trials  as  these,  integrity  is  proved, 
and  the  recollection  of  these  childish  incidents  often 
lasts  through  life,  and  strengthens  the  friendship  of  age. 

"  Well."  said  Mary,  "  though  you  cannot  skate,  you 
can  walk,  and  I  can  walk  with  you." 

"  And  mamma  says  she  will  walk  with  us  to  the  wood- 
man's, to  thank  him  for  saving  Pompey,"  said  Frank; 
"  we  will  take  Pompey  with  us,  to  thank  him  for  him- 
self. But  first,  Mary,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you 
and  Lewis  about  a  plumcake." 

Frank's  mother  had  promised  him  a  large  iced  plum- 
cake  for  "  twelfth-night."  We  presume  that  none  of 
our  young  readers  are  unacquainted  with  the  joyful  rites 
of  twelfth-night,  with  the  drawing  of  lots  for  king  and 
queen,  and  for  all  the  various  personages  who  are  to 
support,  through  that  evening,  whatever  character  falls 
to  their  lot.  The  name  and  description  of  each  charac- 
ter intended  for  their  twelfth  night,  Frank  and  Mary 
had  already  drawn  out ;  they  had  written  them  delicate- 
ly on  little  billets,  and  each  billet  had  moreover  its  mot- 
to, and  each  billet  was  rolled  up  and  thrown  into  the  hat, 
ready  to  hand  round  with  the  essential  accompaniments 
of  iced  sections  of  plumcake. 

That  cake  was  not  yet  made ;  but  Mrs.  Catharine  had 
this  day  looked  out  the  materials ;  the  sugar,  and  the 
plums,  the  citron,  &c.,  were  all  on  the  table  in  her  room, 
and  she  was  just  going  to  begin  her  work.  But  Frank 
now  proposed  to  Mary  and  Lewis  that  they  should  give 
up  this  cake,  and  give  the  money  which  it  would  have 
cost  to  the  poor  woodman  who  had  saved  Pompey. 
The  cake,  as  Mrs.  Catharine  had  informed  Frank,  would 
cost  about  a  guinea ;  and  his  mother  told  him  she  would 
give  him  this  money  instead  of  the  cake,  if  he  chose  it, 
and  if  they  all  agreed  to  it.  With  one  accord  it  was  de- 
cided that  the  cake,  even  the  iced  plumcake,  and  the 
twelfth-night  cake,  should  be  given  up;    and  Frank, 


PRANK.  376 

Mary,  and  Lewis  ran  to  stop  Mrs.  Catharine's  hand. 
She  was  much  surprised,  and  at  first  disappointed,  when 
she  found  her  hand  stopped,  and  heard  that  there  was 
to  be  no  cake  ;  but  her  countenance  recovered  from  its 
consternation  when  she  learned  that  the  iced  cake  was 
to  turn  into  a  warm  coat  for  Pompey's  dehverer.  She 
much  approved  of  this,  however  she  regretted,  for  her 
own  share,  the  pleasure  she  would  have  had  in  making 
it  for  them :  and  still  she  thought  that  there  might  be  a 
seed  cake,  or  a  plain  cake,  for  the  young  people  on  the 
twelfth  night. 

No ;  they  would  not  consent  to  this.  Frank  said  that 
whatever  they  did  should  be  quite  honestly  done ;  they 
must  give  up  something,  or  else,  they  said,  it  would  be 
only  pretending  to  be  generous.  Frank's  mother,  who 
had  upon  all  occasions  endeavoured  to  instil  this  prin- 
ciple, was  glad  to  see  that  he  applied  it  of  his  own  ac- 
cord. She  put  the  guinea  into  his  hand,  and  they  walked 
to  the  woodman's :  he  was  not  at  his  cottage,  but  they 
foNnd  him  at  work  in  the  wood,  and  Pompey  carried 
him  the  guinea  between  his  teeth,  holding  it  very  fast 
till  Frank  ordered  him  to  surrender  it.  It  is  said,  but 
we  do  not  vouch  for  the  truth,  that  Pompey  immediately 
knew  the  woodman  again,  and  wagged  his  tail  and  lick- 
ed hands  in  token  of  gratitude.  They  forgot  that  Pom- 
pey had  been  more  than  half  drowned  when  his  ac- 
qaintance  with  the  woodman  first  commenced,  and  that 
he  had  been  quite  senseless  at  the  time  when  the  essen- 
tial service  of  his  extricating  him  from  the  ice  had  been 
accomplished.  But  let  this  rest :  for  the  honour  of 
Pompey  we  wish  to  believe  it  if  it  be  possible.  We 
pass  on  to  other  matters. 

Mary  had  now  completely  forgotten  all  she  had  for- 
merly heard  of  Lewis's  learning,  for  he  never  talked 
of  his  Latin  or  Greek ;  and  whatever  else  he  knew 
came  out  only  when  it  could  assist  them,  and  just  as 
much  as  they  wanted,  and  no  more. 

One  day,  when  Mary  was  looking  at  the  prints  of  the 
French  fairy  tales  with  Frank,  in  the  Cabinet  des  Fees, 
and  was  trying  to  translate  the  words  which  were  at 
the  bottom  of  each  print,  and  when  she  came  to  one 
sentence  of  which  she  could  make  nothing,  Lewis 
helped  her,  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  they  found  out 
that  he  understood  French  "  better  than  she  did,  a  great 
deal." 


378  FRANK. 

He  had  learned,  he  said,  all  he  knew  of  it  from  one  of 
his  sisters  before  he  went  to  school,  and  afterward 
kept  it  up  in  the  holydays. 

Another  morning,  after  having  shown  him  their  Ro- 
man emperors,  and  British  kings  and  queens,  and  taken 
him  to  look  at  the  "  Stream  of  Time,"  Lewis  said  he 
had  never  seen  it  before,  but  he  quickly  understood  it, 
and  soon  assisted  them  in  using  it.  They  perceived 
that  he  knew  a  great  deal  more  of  history  than  they 
did,  and  they  found  that  it  was  all  clear  in  his  head ; 
he  knew  what  empires  and  nations  came  first,  and  what 
followed  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Whenever  Frank 
and  Mary  were  at  a  difficulty,  he  was  ready  to  assist 
them,  either  in  history  or  geography.  He  knew  what 
people  inhabited  the  dilferent  parts  of  Europe  and  Asia, 
in  ancient  and  in  modern  times.  He  made  Frank  un- 
derstand what  often  puzzles  children — how  the  Romans 
seemed  to  turn  into  the  Italians,  the  Gauls  into  the 
French,  &c. ;  he  helped  them  in  making  out  how  ancient 
and  modern  history  follow,  or  may  be  made  to  follow 
each  other,  for  this  he  knew  better  than  is  common  with 
boys  of  his  age. 

He  helped  them  to  make  for  each  century  a  sort  of 
skeleton  map  of  history,  in  which  should  be  written  at 
first  only  a  very  few  of  the  principal  names  of  the  most 
civilized  nations,  and  then  of  the  celebrated  men ;  each 
century  should  have  its  sheet  of  paper.  Such  maps  had 
been  made  for  him,  and  he  had  made  some  for  himself, 
and  had  found  them  useful. 

Frank  liked  to  do  this,  provided  Lewis  would  write  the 
names,  because  he  could  write  faster  than  they  could. 

"  Shall  we  tell  him,"  whispered  Mary,  "  our  play  of 
contemporaries,  or  would  he  think  it  too  foolish  t 

Far  from  thinking  it  foolish,  Lewis  entered  into  it  with 
great  spirit,  and  made  out  some  very  entertaining  par- 
ties of  ancients  and  moderns,  with  droll  appropriate  di- 
alogues ;  and  whenever  he  found  that  he  went  beyond 
what  Frank  or  Mary  knew,  he  showed  them  where  they 
could  find  all  that  he  had  learned. 

"  But  how  could  you  learn  so  much  history  ■?"  said 
Frank. 

"  Very  easily,"  replied  Lewis,  "  for  I  was  exceedingly 
happy  when  I  was  learning  it." 

Lewis  paused,  for,  as  they  saw,  some  recollection 
touched  him  with  pain  as  well  as  pleasure.    Mary  and 


PRANK.  377 

Frank  stood  silent  while  he  went  to  his  father's  writing- 
desk,  which  was  open  on  the  table,  and  took  from  it  a 
miniature  picture  in  a  black  case.  Showing  the  picture 
to  them,  he  seemed  as  if  he  was  going  to  say  something, 
yet  said  nothing. 

"  It  is  a  very  good-natured,  sensible  countenance," 
said  Frank.     "  I  like  it." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Mary :  "  it  lodks  like  a  very  old  man." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lewis,  "  he  was  past  eighty  when  that 
picture  was  drawn." 

*'  Eighty !"  said  Mary.  "  I  love  old  people  when  they 
are  good-natured,  and  I  am  sure,  whoever  this  is,  he  is 
good-natured,  for  both  his  eyes  and  his  mouth  look 
smiling." 

"Who  is  itr'  said  Frank. 
'  "  My  grandfather,  that  was,^''  said  Lewis ;  "  and  he 
was  the  most  good-natured,  the  kindest  person  in  the 
world.  I  wish  you  had  known  him,  you  would  have  loved 
him  so  much,  and  he  would  have  loved  you;  he  was 
always  fond  of  having  young  people  about  him,  and  we 
all  of  us  used  to  be  so  glad  to  go  into  his  room.  He  had 
always  something  ready  for  each  of  us  when  we  went 
to  him,  either  to  read  to  us,  or  to  tell  us,  of  his  younger 
days,  or  something  or  other  that  was  delightful;  and 
that  made  one  wish  to  be  as  good  and  to  know  as  much 
as  he  did.  You  asked  me  how  I  learned  all  I  know  of 
history.  It  was  he  who  taught  it  to  me  ;  and  that  was 
what  made  me  like  it  so  much,  and  learn  it,  as  I  told 
you,  so  easily.  Every  morning,  before  breakfast,  he  let 
me  come  to  him  in  his  study.  He  got  up  very  early, 
but  he  sat  in  his  dressing-gown  reading  or  writing  till 
eight,  and  as  soon  as  the  clock  struck  eight,  that  was 
my  hour,  I  used  to  run  down  stairs,  and  there  I  used  to 
find  him  in  his  dear  arm-chair ;  and  he  always  smiled 
upon  me  when  I  came  in;  but  I  can  never  see  him 
again !" 

Mary  held  fast  the  picture  which  Lewis  was  going  to 
shut.  "Oh,  do  let  me  look  at  it  a  little  longer!"  said 
she. 

"  Who  was  he  most  like  of  anybody  I  ever  have  seen  1" 
said  Frank.     "  Was  he  like  your  father  V 

"  Yes,  only  so  much  older :  his  manner  was  different." 

"  Had  he  a  slow  or  a  quick  manner  ?"  said  Mary. 

"  He  was  quick  and  lively — yet  very  gentle  and  gen- 
tlemanlike, and  remarkably  poUte ;  not  mere  company 
33* 


378  PKANK. 

politeness,  but  every  day  and  always,  when  ai  home  and 
to  everybody  the  same,  even  to  us  children,  and  to  thd 
poorest  people  more  than  to  the  grandest.  The  very 
beggars  to  whom  he  gave  charity  observed  and  felt  that 
kind  manner  of  grandpapa's.  I  remember  a  poor  old 
beggar  woman,  after  he  was  gone,  too,  saying,  that  she 
would  rather  have  a  penny  from  his  hand  than  a  shilling 
flung  to  her  by  another." 

"  How  we  should  have  loved  him,"  said  Mary, "  should 
not  we,  Frank  V 

"  Exceedingly ;  and  you  really  think  he  would  have 
liked  us,"  said  Frank,  "  as  well  as  your  papa  likes  us  !" 
"  I  am  sure  he  would,"  said  Lewis,  "  for  they  always 
liked  the  same  people,  and  for  the  same  things ;  he 
would  have  liked  your  manners,  for  he  liked  good-man- 
ners particularly;  and  he  would  have  liked  your  being 
fond  of  reading,  and  listening  to  all  that  is  going  on ; 
but,  above  all,  he  would  have  liked  you  for  loving  one 
another  ;  and  he  would  have  been  glad  that  I  should  be 
here,  because  he  would  have  seen  that  you  have  good 
principles." 

"  But  he  was  not  strict,  was  he  V  said  Frank. 
"  Strict  about  learning,  or  such  things  !     No,  not  the 
least,"  said  Lewis.    "  But  he  was  very  strict  about  prin- 
ciples— very  strict  about  right  and  wrong." 
"  So  is  my  father,"  said  Frank. 
"But  was  not  your  grandpapa  a  clergyman  1"  said 
Mary,  looking  again  at  the  dress  of  the  picture. 
"  He  was,"  said  Lewis. 

"  Then  he  was,  I  suppose,  more  serious  a  great  deal 
than  your  father,  or  my  father,  was  not  he  ?"  said 
Frank. 

"  I  do  not  think  he  was  more  so,  except  as  suited  his 
age,  and  when  serious  subjects  were  mentioned.  He 
w^as  very  religious,  but  that  did  not  make  him  sad;  quite 
the  contrary.  He  was  remarkably  cheerful.  He  used 
to  say  good  Christians  ought  to  be  cheerful,  and  he  made 
us  love  religion  and  not  fear  it." 

"  Just  what  my  father  and  mother  think,"  said  Frank. 

"  And  what  they  teach  us,"  said  Mary. 

After  this  conversation  Mary  told  Frank  that  she  had 

quite  settled  her  mind  about  Lewis,  that  she  was  sure 

he  would  make  him  a  good  friend,  and  she  begged  he 

would  make  a  friend  of  him  as  fast  as  possible. 

Frank  was  well  disposed  to  go  as  fast  in  friendship  as 


prank/  379 

Mary  desired ;  and  considerable  progress  was  made, 
even  in  the  few  remaining  days  of  this  first  visit.  But 
Lewis's  father  was  obhged  to  take  his  son  away,  prom- 
ising, however,  that  Lewis  should  return  and  spend  with 
them  his  next  Midsummer  holydays. 

"  Midsummer !"  said  Frank,  sighing.    •'  How  long  it 
will  be  till  Midsummer !" 


MrosuMMER ! — Oh,  how  long  it  will  be  before  Midsum- 
mer !"  were,  if  we  remember  rightly,  Frank's  last  words 
when  we  parted  fr6m  him  at  Christmas ;  but  spring  did 
return,  and  bestowed  fresh  pleasures;  and  summer  re- 
turned ;  yes,  even  Midsummer,  and  Lewis's  holydays 
and  Lewis  himself  arrived.  The  two  friends  met  with 
all  the  delight  they  had  expected, — very  uncommon  with 
those  who  had  expected  so  much.  They  compared  all 
they  had  done,  and  seen,  and  heard,  and  read  in  the  in- 
terval, and  they  talked,  and  Mary  listened,  for  two  hours 
without  intermission.  She,  indeed,  affirms  it  was  three, 
and  they  were  not  tired  at  the  end  of  that  time,  nor  had 
they  come  to  the  end  of  their  store  of  sense  and  non- 
sense. 

Lewis  inquired  whether  the  time  for  Frank's  going  to 
school  was  fixed. 

"  Yes,  after  Midsummer,  papa  says  it  must  be." 

"  He  goes  abroad  in  autumn,"  said  Mary,  "  so  it  must 
be." 

"  And  is  it  fixed  to  what  school  he  is  to  go  ]'l  said 
Lewis. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Frank,  "  but  it  is  to  be  determined 
to-day,  and  I  will  tell  you,  Lewis,  to-morrow.  I  am 
going  this  minute  to  ask  papa  something — I  will  not  tell 
either  of  you  what  it  is." 

He  left  them,  and,  after  some  little  time,  returned,  with 
raised  colour  and  sparkling  eyes. 

"What  do  you  think  I  have  done,  Maryl"  said 
Frank. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Mary. 

"  I  have  asked  papa  to  let  me  go  to  the  same  school 
as  Lewis,  and  papa  had  been  thinking  of  it  before,  and 
he  and  mamma  and  the  engineer  went  into  the  study, 
and  studied  about  it,  and  it  is  all  settled.  Papa  is  wri» 
ting  a  letter  to  the  head-master  about  it  this  minute. 


380  PRANK. 

Mamma  said  she  was  very  glad  that  I  should  have  (M> 
good  a  friend  as  Lewis." 

Lewis  was  exceedingly  glad  to  hear  this. 

"  Oh,  so  am  I,"  said  Mary  ;  "  he  will  be  your  friend  at 
school,  and  I  will  be  your  friend  at  home." 

"  Yes,  always,"  said  Frank,  "  and  all  is  well  and 
happy." 

"  But  when  are  you  to  go,  Frank  1"  said  Mary. 

"  At  the  end  of  Lewis's  holydays,  you  know,  we  shall 
both  go  together." 

"  Both  together,"  said  Mary ;  "  what  shall  I  do  when 
you  are  gone,  Frank  V 

"  But  it  will  not  be  for  a  great  while  yet,"  said  Frank. 
"  There  are  a  month  and  three  days  of  Lewis's  holydays 
to  come." 

"  A  month  and  three  days !  then  we  need  not  think  of 
it  yet,  indeed,"  said  Mary. 

"  And  though  I  told  you  it  was  all  settled,  1  recollect 
now,"  said  Frank,  "  that  it  is  not  quite  certain,  because 
they  are  not  sure  that  there  is  a  place  or  abed  forme  at 
the  school ;  and,  you  know,  if  there  is  not  room  for  me 
I  cannot  go." 

"  Then  I  hope,"  cried  Mary ;  but  she  checked  herself. 
"  No,  1  do  not  hope ;  for  since  you  must  go  to  school,  as 
papa  says,  it  is  better  that  you  should  go  with  Lewis. 
When  will  the  answer  to  the  letter  come?" 

"  Not  till  Thursday  at  soonest,  three  days,  perhaps 
four,  to  wait,  before  we  know  how  it  will  be.  What  a 
long  time  !"  said  Frank. 

The  first  morning  was,  indeed,  rather  long ;  for  Frank 
could  not  settle  to  any  thing,  but  continually  repeated, 

"  Mary,  when  do  you  think  the  answer  will  come,  on 
Thursday  or  Friday  ?  What  do  you  think  the  answer 
will  be,  Lewis  ?" 

Lewis  was  inclined  to  think  there  would  be  no  place 
for  Frank.  It  depended  upon  whether  a  new  boy, 
whose  name  he  did  not  know,  for  whom  the  place  had 
been  engaged,  would  come  to  school  or  not — this  was  a 
point  which  Lewis  could  not  decide — therefore  it  was 
better  to  do  something  in  the  interval  to  lessen  the  im- 
patience and  pain  of  suspense.  Lewis  had,  during  these 
holydays,  a  theme  to  write.  The  subject :  "  Which  of 
all  the  Roman  and  Grecian  heroes  in  Plutarch's  Lives 
do  you  prefer  ]"  Here  was  ample  room  for  thought  and 
debate.     Lewis  consulted  Fraiik,   and  Frank  felt  his 


FRANK.  381 

own  ignorance,  and  Plutarch's  Lives  were  now  looked 
over  with  great  eagerness ;  each  took  a  volume,  and 
each  read  aloud  whatever  struck  him  at  the  moment 
with  admiration  :  Mary  listening  while  she  worked,  or 
rather  while  she  sat  with  her  work  in  her  hand.  And 
now  she  inclined  in  favour  of  this  hero,  and  now  of 
that. 

Lewis  could  not  decide  quickly,  because  it  was  a 
matter  of  great  consequence  to  him.  He  had  many 
competitors,  who  were  very  clever  boys,  and  who 
would  examine  the  merits  of  the  hero  of  each  theme ; 
and  he  must  look  over  Plutarch's  Lives  again  and 
again  more  carefully  another  day.  Frank  desired  to 
help  his  friend  in  examining  the  lives  that  were  to  be 
compared,  and  Lewis  kindly  accepted  his  assistance ; 
they  read,  and  gave  their  reasons  in  favour  or  against 
each  action  and  character,  and  having  an  immediate 
object,  their  interest  was  kept  constantly  alive.  Thus 
Frank's  attention  turned  from  childish  objects  to  those 
that  were  more  manly;  and  he  was  now  as  much  inter- 
ested in  the  real  history  of  illustrious  men,  as  he  used 
to  be  in  mere  amusing  tales.  His  admiration  was  ex- 
cited by  the  great  and  good  actions  of  which  he  read  : 
and  as  he  was  pressed  at  the  same  time  to  determine 
which  were  truly  good  and  great,  many  questions  about 
right  and  wrong,  honour  and  honesty,  resolution  and 
obstinacy,  courage  and  rashness,  occurred,  which  were 
debated  between  him  and  his  friend  Lewis ;  and  though 
they  were  only  boyish  arguments,  argued  but  imper- 
fectly, yet  Frank's  understanding  strengthened  by  this 
exercise,  as  his  body  strengthened  by  the  wrestling, 
running,  and  climbing  which  they  had  out  of  doors. 

Colonel  Birch,  who  was  always  ready  to  contribute 
to  their  amusement,  took  them  to  see  some  of  his  men 
firing  at  a  mark ;  he  taught  them  how  to  prime,  load, 
and  fire  a  pistol  themselves.  Another  day  he  took 
them  to  an  archery  meeting ;  he  gave  Frank  a  bow  and 
three  good  arrows.  These  were  a  great  delight,  more 
especially  because  Mary  could  join  in  this  amusement. 
The  bow,  though  rather  large,  was  not  too  strong  for 
her  to  draw,  and  her  dexterity  supplied  her  want  of 
strength. 

The  weather  was  cool  enough  to  permit  of  riding ; 
and,  at  Frank's  and  Lewis's  age,  it  must  be  difiicult  to 
find  the  weather  that  can  prevent  a  good  gallop — Fehx 


382  ruANK. 

had  now  quite  recovered,  and  Frank's  father  had  suffi- 
cient confidence  in  Lewis  to  trust  him  to  ride  his  own 
favourite  horse — confidence,  of  which  neither  he  nor 
the  horse  had  ever  reason  to  repent. 

During  the  very  hot  weather  Frank  took  great  pleas- 
ure in  swimming,  and  now  he  could  swim  well  enough 
to  try  the  experiment  of  the  kite,  which  he  had  so  long 
desired  to  try.  He  found  the  passage  in  Franklin's 
essays,  and  Lewis  and  he  read  it  together,  with  the 
eagerness  with  which  people  read  that  which  they  want 
immediately  to  put  in  practice. 

"  The  ordinary  method  of  swimming  is  reduced  to  the 
act  of  rowing  with  the  arms  and  legs,  and  is,  conse- 
quently, a  laborious  and  fatiguing  operation,  when  the 
space  of  water  to  be  crossed  is  considerable.  There  is 
a  method  in  which  the  swimmer  may  pass  to  great  dis- 
tances with  much  facility  by  means  of  a  sail. 

"  This  discovery  I  fortunately  made  by  accident,  and 
in  the  following  manner : — 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  amused  myself  one  day  fl)ring 
a  paper  kite,  and  approaching  the  bank  of  a  pond, 
which  was  near  a  mile  broad,  I  tied  the  string  to  a 
stake,  and  the  kite  ascended  to  a  very  considerable 
height  above  the  pond  while  I  was  swimming.  In  a 
little  time,  being  desirous  of  amusing  myself  with  my 
kite,  and  enjoying  at  the  same  time  the  pleasure  of 
swimming,  1  returned ;  and  loosing  from  the  stake  the 
string,  with  the  little  stick  which  was  fastened  to  it, 
went  again  into  the  water,  where  I  found  that,  lying 
on  my  back  and  holding  the  stick  in  my  hands,  I  was 
drawn  along  the  surface  of  the  water  in  a  very  agree- 
able manner.  Having  then  engaged  another  boy  to 
carry  my  clothes  round  the  pond,  to  a  place  which  I 
pointed  out  to  him  on  the  other  side,  I  began  to  cross 
the  pond  with  my  kite,  which  carried  me  quite  over 
without  the  least  fatigue,  and  with  the  greatest  pleasure 
imaginable.  I  was  only  obliged  occasionally  to  halt  a 
little  in  my  course  to  resist  its  progress,  as  it  appeared 
that  by  following  too  quickly  I  lowered  the  kite  too 
much ;  by  doing  which  occasionally  I  made  it  rise  again. 
1  have  never  since  that  time  practised  this  singular  mode 
of  swimming,  though  I  think  it  not  impossible  to  cross 
in  this  manner  from  Dover  to  Calais.  The  packet-boat, 
however,  is  still  preferable." 

In  this  last  sentiment,  Frank's  mother  most  heartily 


FRANK.  388 

agreed.  She  "now,  however,  consented  that  Frank 
should  try  his  experiment,  from  which  he  had  so  long 
refrained  in  obedience  to  her,  and  to  fulfil  his  promise. 

His  father,  for  further  security,  was  present  at  the 
trial.  It  should  be  observed,  that  the  part  of  the  pond, 
across  which  Frank  made  this  first  trial,  was  not  of 
greater  width  than  he  could  have  easily  crossed  by 
swimming  in  his  usual  manner.  On  this  his  father  in- 
sisted. Frank,  kite  in  hand,  went  into  the  water,  and, 
exactly  as  Franklin  directed,  lying  on  his  back  and  hold- 
ing the  little  stick  to  which  the  string  of  the  kite  was 
fastened,  was  drawn  along  by  his  flying  sail,  and  carried 
quite  over,  "without  the  least  fatigue,  and  with  the 
greatest  pleasure  imaginable." 

How  far  this  mode  of  sailing-swimming  could  be  ap- 
plied to  use,  was  a  question  which  was  warmly  discuss- 
ed, and  very  differently  judged,  according  to  the  age 
and  experience  of  those  who  hoped  or  feared. 

All  this  time  no  answer  came  from  the  master  of 
Lewis's  school !  The  delay  was  surprising !  The  sus- 
pense would  have  been  intolerable  but  for  the  constant 
employments  which  filled  every  hour.  Colonel  Birch 
was  almost  as  anxious  as  they  could  be  for  the  answer 
to  the  letter :  he  was  very  desirous  that  Frank  should 
now  go  to  school. 

"  Well,  boys,  have  you  had  a  letter  1"  said  he,  coming 
in  one  morning  about  the  hour  when  the  post  usually 
arrived. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Frank,  "  the  post  has  not  come  in  yet, 
and  we  are  going  out  with  our  bows  and  arrows  to  pre- 
vent us  from  being  impatient.  This  was  Mary's  inven- 
tion.    Mamma  will  send  for  us  if  there  is  a  letter." 

And  this  morning  they  were  sent  for.  They  found 
their  father,  mother,  and  Colonel  Birch,  holding  consul- 
tation over  a  letter  which  lay  on  the  table.  The  letter 
began  with  an  apology  for  the  delay  of  the  master's 
answer.  This  had  been  occasioned,  he  said,  by  his 
having  been  kept  in  uncertainty  by  the  friends  of  a  boy 
to  whom  the  vacant  place  had  been  promised.  They 
had,  however,  now  decided  to  send  him,  and  there  was 
no  place  for  Frank  this  year. 

All  stood  round  the  table  in  silence,  each  reading  the 
letter  again  by  turns.  But  it  could  not  be  changed: 
and  after  having  read  it,  each  laid  it  down  again.  Colo- 
nel Birch  first  broke  silence. 


384  PRANK. 

"  My  good  friends,  I  see  what  the  end  of  this  will 
be,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it !  you  will 
keep  Frank  at  home  another  year,  and  if  you  do,  it  will 
spoil  him.  You  cannot  help  it,  my  dear  madam,  you 
cannot  help  it — I  know  you  would  do  every  thing  for 
him  that  the  best  of  mothers  can  do  for  the  best  of 
boys ;  but  that  is  not  sufficient,  I  mean  that  it  is  too 
much.  He  is  made  a  great  deal  too  happy — every  thing 
goes  too  smoothly  and  easily  with  him  at  home  to  make 
a  man  of  him.  If  you  have  given  him  good  principles, 
as  I  know  you  have,  trust  to  them.  He  must  see  good 
and  bad  at  every  school,  and  wherever  he  goes  in  the 
world;  and  the  sooner  he  learns  to  choose  between 
them,  and  make  his  own  way,  the  better. 

"Very  true,  my  dear  madam.  Yes,  my  dear  sir," 
continued  Colonel  Birch,  half  listening  to  something 
Frank's  father  and  mother  attempted  to  say,  to  assure 
him  that  they  agreed  perfectly  in  these  sentiments.  "  1 
know  you  agree  with  me  in  theory,  but  in  practice, 
when  it  comes  to  the  point,  I  doubt  your  resolution : 
you  will  make  fine  excuses  to  yourselves — you  will 
say  that  you  must  find  the  best  school  possible,  and 
the  best  friends  possible  for  your  boy,  and  so  forth.  I 
am  sorry  he  cannot  find  a  place  at  this  best  of  schools," 
added  he,  looking  at  Lewis,  "  for  I  know  the  value  of  a 
good  friend  early  in  life,  a  friend  a  year  or  two  older  and 
wiser  than  one's  self;  I  had  one  in  your  father,  Frank. 
But  still,  my  boy,  you  have  your  friend  here,  safe  by  the 
heart-strings ;  and  whether  you  go  to  the  same  school 
for  this  year  with  him  or  not,  matters  little  :  your  father 
and  I,  when  we  were  boys,  were  separated  for  three 
long  years — what  did  that  signify  ?  We  met  again,  and 
found  our  hearts  and  heads  the  same,  or  rather  better, 
if  I  remember  right,  for  my  own  share,  and  we  were 
as  good  friends  as  if  we  had  never  parted.  Come, 
come,  my  boys,  think  no  more  about  it." 

Frank  and  Lewis  tried  to  think  that  it  was  all  for 
the  best.  Frank  said  that  he  was  ready  to  go  to  any 
school  his  father  and  mother  pleased,  and  as  soon  as 
they  pleased :  he  was  sure  he  should  never  find  such 
another  friend  as  Lewis.  "  But,"  added  he,  "  I  shall 
always,  I  hope — " 

What  it  was  that  he  hoped  was  lost  in  a  choking  in  • 
his  throat ;  but,  though  the  words  were  inaudible,  they 


TRANK.  ^85 

were  understood,  it  seems :  for  Colonel  Birch  immedi- 
ately answered — 

"  That  I  am  sure  you  will,  my  boy.  So  now  to  what 
school  will  you  send  him,  and  when  V 

"  I  have  two  in  view,  under  consideration,"  said  his 
father,  smiling,  as  he  spoke,  at  Colonel  Birch's  look  of 
impatience. 

"  Under  consideration !  toss  up  and  decide.  Any 
school  is  better  for  him  than  keeping  him  longer  at 
home;  especially  as  you  are  obliged  to  go  abroad. 
Any,  the  worst  public  school,  is  better  for  a  boy  of  his 
age  than  the  best  home." 

This  was  going  too  far — this  could  not  be  allowed ; 
and,  to  do  the  good  colonel  justice,  this  was  more  than 
he  meant ;  the  assertion  was  made  in  the  warmth  of 
argument,  in  his  zeal  for  what  he  thought  Frank's 
advantage.  As  he  cooled,  he  found  there  had  been  no 
occasion  for  his  heat.  Frank's  father  was  not  only 
willing,  but  prepared  to  do  all  that  he  wished. 

It  may  be  remembered  that,  in  the  preceding  sum- 
mer, Frank's  father  took  him  to  a  beautiful  park  in  the 
neighbourhood,  called  Bellombre.  Lord  and  Lady  Chep- 
stow, the  possessors  of  this  place,  who  had  been  for 
some  time  abroad,  were  now  at  home,  and  so  was  their 
son  Horace  Granville,  who  had  been  at  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal English  schools,  and  who  had  a  party  of  his  young 
companions  with  him  to  spend  the  holydays  at  Bellom- 
bre. Frank's  father  and  mother  had  delayed  a  long- 
promised  visit  to  Lord  and  Lady  Chepstow  till  this  time, 
on  purpose  that  they  might  give  Frank  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  these  young  people ;  and  now  there  was  an 
additional  motive,  that  they  might  judge  by  what  these 
boys  were,  and  by  what  they  heard  of  their  raasteri 
which  school  they  should  like  best  for  Frank. 

The  party  was  quickly  arranged.  There  were  Miss 
Granvilles,  and  Mary  was  included  in  the  invitation. 
They  all  went  to  spend  a  fortnight  at  Bellombre.  The 
drive  there,  though  neither  by  the  wood  nor  glen  which 
Frank  had  formerly  described  to  Mary,  was  thought 
delightful,  and  the  superb  park  was  equal  even  to  what 
Frank's  imagination  had  expected,  from  his  first  peep 
between  the  paling.  The  house  was  magnificent.  They 
were  shown  to  a  splendid  library,  where  they  found 
Lord  and  Lady  Chepstow,  and,  among  several  other 
people,  a  boy  of  about  fifteen  or  sixteen,  whom  Frank 
R  33 


386  FRANK. 

imagined  to  be  young  Granville,  and  was  surprised  to 
see  that  he  was  rather  mean-looking ;  but  Frank  found 
his  mistake,  when  Lord  Chepstow  turned  and  said  to 
the  boy,  "  Spellman,  where  is  Horace  1" 

Spellman  said  that  Mr.  Granville  had  been  out  fishing; 
he  was  very  wet — very  late — very  sorry — but  he  was 
sure  he  would  soon  be  down. 

In  the  meantime  Spellman  came  forward  to  the  young 
people ;  he  showed  Mary  where  to  put  her  bonnet ;  he 
took  them  to  the  window,  and  pointed  out  the  best  view 
of  the  park ;  told  how  many  miles  the  park  was  round, 
and  told  them  the  names  of  all  the  portraits  in  the  room, 
and  which  was  the  first  Lord  Chepstow,  and  which  the 
last,  and  which  the  present  lord,  and  which  was  Horace. 
"  Wonderfully  like,"  said  he,  "  only  not  near  so  hand- 
some. Is  not  it?"  Frank  had  never  yet  seen  him, 
therefore  he  could  not  decide. 

"  Never  seen  Horace  Granville ! — but  then  you've  a 
great  pleasure  to  come.  Only  you  must  not  be  sur- 
prised to  find  him  a  little  shy  at  first.  It  is  a  great  pity; 
Lady  Chepstow  is  always  complaining  of  his  being  so 
silent — but  it  goes  off;  you'll  like  him  amazingly  when 
you  know  him — that  is,  if  he  likes  you,  which  I  am  sure 
he  will,  for  he  told  me  his  mother  desired  him  to  take 
you  under  his  protection.  People  think  he  is  terribly 
proud,  but  it  is  all  bashfulness.  Surprisingly  bashful 
he  is,  considering  how  clever  he  is,  and  it  is  so  odd,  after 
his  being  at  a  great  school,  and  every  thing,  but  he  goes 
back  to  it  always  at  home,  which  is  very  provoking  to 
his  father — but  I  am  a  prodigious  favourite,  and  must 
always  be  here  in  the  holydays  to  talk  for  him,  espe- 
cially when  there's  strangers,  as  Lady  Chepstow  says, 
so  we  get  on  famously.  Horace  could  never  do  with- 
out me !" 

Spellman  had  not  time  to  say  more,  for  the  door  burst 
open,  and  in  came,  laughing  at  some  jest  unknown,  a 
party  of  well-dressed  men-boys,  as  Mary  called  them, 
who,  except  a  bob  of  the  head  each  to  Lady  Chepstow 
as  they  passed,  seemed  regardless  of  everybody  but 
.themselves.  They  herded  together  in  a  window !  their 
merriment  ceased,  and  they  stood  eying  the  company, 
the  door  still  left  open,  till  another  followed,  very  gen- 
tleman-like, cold,  and  quiet ;  he  was  a  boy  of  about  six- 
teen, but  he  looked  quite  like  a  man,  and  a  very  serious 
man. 


FRANK.  3S7 

"  Horace  Granville  himself,''^  whispered  Spellman. 
Frank  and  Lewis  were  presented  to  him,  and  he  to  them, 
by  Lord  Chepstow,  who  said  that  he  was  sure  his 
son  Horace  would  always  be  particularly  glad  to  see 
Frank :  but  Horace  did  not  look  particularly  glad  to  see 
him  now.  At  once  bashful  and  proud,  he  stood  greatly 
distressed,  and  said  nothing ;  but  after  a  reconnoitering 
glance  down  upon  Frank,  he  held  ont  his  hand  gracious- 
ly to  him,  bowed  his  head  coldly  to  Lewis,  but  still  said 
nothing.  Lady  Chepstow  asked  if  there  was  not  some 
hope  that  Frank  would  go  to  the  same  school  with  her 
son.  This  suggested  an  easy  subject  of  conversation 
to  Horace,  but  he  did  not  take  it.  After  standing  a  few 
minutes  in  this  agony  of  silence,  he  turned  short  about, 
walked  abruptly  away,  and  joined  the  herd  in  the  win- 
dow, leaving  Frank  and  Lewis  again  to  Spellman's  care. 
About  this  time  Mary  was  carried  off  by  one  of  the 
higher  powers  to  some  distant  region,  where,  with  the 
governess  and  the  Miss  GrahvLUes,  she  was  to  be  invis- 
ible. 

Spellman  resumed  his  office  of  Granville's  talker  and 
flatterer.  He  whispered  to  Frank,  "  Though  Mr.  Gran- 
ville said  nothing,  I  know  he  liked  your  first  look  ama- 
zingly.    1  know  his  eye,  if  anybody  does." 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  said  Frank;  "  who  those  people  are, 
who  are  standing  at  the  window  V  He  was  at  a  loss 
whether  to  call  them  boys  or  men,  he  therefore  called 
them  people. 

"  People !  indeed,"  said  Spellman,  smiling.  "  One 
of  them  is  Cressingham,  son  of  Lord  Cressingham,  of 
Cressingham,  or  his  hand  would  not  be  on  Granville's 
shoulder.  The  other,  with  the  broad  back,  is  Power, 
son  of  the  member — Oh !  you  don't  know  him.  There 
is  Power,  the  father,  the  old  man  with  the  great  seals 
to  his  watch,  and  young  Power  is  expected  to  be  very 
rich — we  are  very  fond  of  him.  Then  the  other,  the 
thin  little  fellow  in  the  window  with  his  hand  on  his  hip, 
is  Shaw ;  he  is  expected  to  be  very  clever.  His  father 
is  here  often,  because  he  is  known  now  to  be  the  author 
of  '  The  Conflagration  of  Moscow ;'  and  he  is  supposed 
to  be  the  author  of  the  *  Chit-chat  Club ;'  and  '  Bath 
Buns'  and  '  Bath  Idols'  are  given  to  him  too,  but  he 
denies  them." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  '  The  Conflagration  of  Moscow,' " 
Baid  Lewis. 

R3 


388  PRANK. 

"  It's  on  the  little  table  there,"  said  Spellraan,  "  and 
it's  very  fine,  certainly ;  but,  for  my  own  share,  I  like  the 
'  Chit-Ckat  Club'  better,  it's  so  amazingly  entertaining, 
'or  everybody  in  the  world  is  in  it.  But  you  would  not 
understand  a  word  of  it  without  the  key." 

"But  what  are  Bath  idols  and  Bath  buns,  sir?"  said 
Frank. 

"  Oh,  bless  you !  the  bitterest  thing  and  the  sweetest !" 
replied  Spellman.  "  But  you  would  not  taste  it  at  all. 
It's  nothing  unless  you  know  the  people  ;  and,"  added 
be,  with  a  smile  of  superiority,  "  you  are  not  come  quite 
to  the  age  for  satire  yet — I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Are  all  those  in  the  window,  schoolfellows  of  Mr. 
Granville  ?"  said  Frank. 

"No:  only  one,  Cressingham;  the  two  others  are 
from  some  other  school,  I  forget  which." 

"  And  are  you  a  schoolfellow  of  Mr.  Granville's  ?"  said 
Frank. 

"  No :  1  am  his  home-fellow,"  said  Spellman,  some 
slight  embarrassment  appearing  in  his  voice  and  laugh, 
though  not  in  his  unblushing  face.  He  added,  "  1  am 
homebred,  like  yourself.     But,  dinner !  dinner  !" 

At  dinner  Frank  was  desired  to  sit  by  Mr.  Granville, 
who  was  at  the  head  of  the  side-table,  at  which  were  all 
his  companions,  and  some  other  persons.  Granville 
w^as  very  attentive  to  FYank,  more  so  than  to  anybody 
else,  silently  taking  care  that  he  had  all  he  wanted. 
Officious  Spellman  seeing  this,  offered  him  continually 
this  and  that,  and  the  other,  and  every  thing  he  did  not 
want :  so  that  Frank  had  no  piece  till  Granville  said, 

"  Leave  him  to  me,  Spellman." 

Frank  hoped  that  he  should  now  hear  what  other 
people  were  talking  about. 

Much  was  said  about  soups,  and  fish,  and  sauce ;  he 
was  much  surprised  that  boys,  or  young  men,  could 
know  so  much  about  different  dishes.  None  of  these 
schoolboys,  however,  gobbled  like  Tom.  They  all  ate 
like  gentlemen,  but  they  talked  more  like  cooks.  Frank 
was  not  sure  whether  they  were  in  reality,  or  only 
pretended  to  be,  epicures.  Certainly  they  were  not 
ashamed,  but  proud  of  their  love  of  eating,  and  their 
taste  for  wines.  When  hunger  abated  and  plates  stood 
Btill,  there  was  much  said  by  Power,  and  Shaw,  and 
Spellman,  of  fish  that  had  been  caught  by  them,  and  of 
fishing  and  boating  parties  which  they  had  or  were  to 


PRANK. 

hare,  Frank  liked  this,  but  each  spoke  of  his  own 
feats,  and  Frank  thought  they  did  not  seem  much  to 
care  for  each  other,  or  to  expect  to  be  cared  for ;  they 
were  companions,  but  not  friends.  Frank  observed 
that  Shaw  and  Power,  though  they  were  schoolfellows, 
as  Spellman  had  told  him,  appeared  to  take  pleasure  in 
taunting  each  other — their  characters  were  plain  enough 
to  him.  Shaw  was  clever,  anxious  to  show  his  wit, 
and  make  diversion  of  everybody.  Power  was  tyran- 
nical, rather  stupid,  and  proud  of  his  father's  fortune. 

Frank  wished  that  they  would  not  talk  so  much,  that 
he  might  hear  Granville,  about  whose  character  he  felt 
more  curiosity.  But,  though  Granville  had  by  this  time 
got  over  his  bashfulness,  so  far  as  to  have  regained  the 
power  of  speech,  yet  he  used  that  power  but  sparingly. 
Frank  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  silent  from  timidity 
or  from  pride. 

Of  Cressingham  he  did  not  at  first  think  much.  Cres- 
singham  had  a  headache,  and  appeared  cross,  to  Spell- 
man  in  particular,  who  tried  to  please  him  in  vain. 
Even  when  he  spoke  of  the  Cressinghams  of  Cressing- 
ham, he  would  not  be  pleased.  Whenever  Spellman 
praised  Granville,  or  any  thing  at  Bellombre,  Cressing- 
ham always  made  some  sarcastic  answer.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  he  disliked  Granville,  though  he  was  said 
to  be  his  friend.  Spellman  was  a  little  too  fond  of  flat- 
tering, perhaps,  but  Cressingham  appeared  unjust  to 
him,  and  much  too  severe,  almost  rude.  But  of  these 
things,  and  of  the  character  of  Granville  especially, 
Frank  changed  his  mind  several  times  during  the  course 
of  dinner. 

In  the  silence  between  the  first  and  second  courses, 
Spellman  feeling  himself  called  upon  to  say  something, 
asked  Frank  if  he  knew  what  was  meant  by  a  fag  I 
Frank  said  that  he  did ;  Lewis  had  explained  it  to  him. 

"  It  is  very  lucky  for  somebody,"  said  Spellman, 
"  that  little  Drake  died  last  month  of  the  measles,  for  I 
have  a  notion  that  somebody  will  get  into  his  shoes." 

Frank  looked  puzzled,  till  it  was  explained  to  him 
that  Drake  had  been  Mr.  Granville's  fag  at  school,  and 
that  getting  into  his  shoes  meant  succeeding  to  him,  or 
standing  in  his  place. 

After  Shaw  had  laughed  more  than  sufficiently  at  the 
'ittle  greenhorn's  ignorance  of  this  expression,  and  then 
laughed  again,  until  the  back  of  his  chair  shook,  at 
33 


390  FRANK. 

Frank's  not  knowing  what  was  meant  even  by  a  green* 
horn,  Spellman  went  on, 

"  You  will  go  to  school  under  famous  good  protec- 
tion," said  he  to  Frank  ;  "  many  a  boy  will  envy  you ; 
a  cousin  of  my  own,  in  particular,  I  know  would  like  to 
be  Granville's  fag,  of  all  things,  if  he  had  been  lucky 
enough." 

"  That  cousin  of  yours  must  be  very  particular,  in 
truth,  if  he  likes,  of  all  things,  to  be  a  fag.  It  is  the 
best  subject  of  congratulation  I  ever  heard ;  1  will  write 
a  Pindaric  ode  upon  it,"  said  Shaw. 

*'  Would  you  rather  be  Granville's  fag  or  Granville's 
flatterer  ?"  said  Cressingham. 

"  Not  a  fair  question,"  said  Shaw,  "  for  one  of  the 

E laces  is  not  vacant,  you  know,  and  you  would  not  have 
im  disoblige  any  of  the  present  company  by  showing 
he  wants  to  step  into  his  shoes  before  his  time." 

Frank  was  a  little  confused,  but  he  answered, 

"  I  will  never  be  a  flatterer,  if  that  is  what  you  mean 
— I  know  I  must  be  a  fag." 

"  Must !"  pursued  Shaw.  "  But,  you  lucky  little  dog, 
do  not  you  rejoice  at  being  Mr.  Granville's  fagi" 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  "  I  do  not  rejoice  at  it ;  I  would 
rather  not  be  anybody's  fag." 

Granville's  face  clouded  over,  but  the  cloud  passed  off. 

"  Who  would  be  anybody's  fag  if  they  could  help  it  V 
cried  Power ;  "  but  you  will  find  you  cannot  help  your- 
self, my  little  fellow.  There  is  fagging  at  all  schools, 
my  lad." 

"  Not  at  all  schools,  not  at  mine,"  said  Lewis. 

"  No  fagging  at  your  school !"  cried  Shaw ;  "  and  pray, 
where  is  it  situate,  lying,  or  being  1 — Somewhere  in  the 
county  of  Utopia,  I  guess,  or  the  parish  of  Lubberland. 
—Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Frank  felt  vexed  at  his  loud  laugh,  but  Lewis  was  not 
vexed  ;  he  waited  till  the  laugh  was  over,  which  he  knew 
could  not  last  for  ever,  though  it  seemed  unextinguish- 
able,  like  the  laughter  of  Homer's  rude  gods.  When 
Lewis  had  quietly  established  his  fact.  Power  took  up 
the  cause  against  him,  and  said, 

"  If  there  is  no  fagging  at  your  school  I  would  not 
go  to  it." 

"No,  because  you  are  a  great  boy,"  said  Lewis;  "if 
you  were  a  little  boy,  you  would  be  very  glad  to  go  t« 
it." 


PRANK.  391 

"  I  am  sure  I  should,"  said  Frank,  sighing. 

Granville's  face  clouded  over  again. 

"  Comfort  yourself,"  said  Cressingham,  "  for  though 
you  must  be  a  fag,  you  need  not  be  a  flatterer." 

"  But  why  must  there  be  fags  V  persisted  Frank. 

"  Because  there  must,"  said  Power. 

"  The  law  of  the  lion,  and  good  law,"  said  Shaw. 
"  Hey,  Granville  V 

"  For  lions,"  answered  Granville. 

"  What,  are  you  against  fagging,  and  you  one  of  the 
great  boys  1"  said  Power. 

"  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  great  boy,"  said  Shaw,  "  but 
Granville  looks  as  if  he  would  have  been  more  obliged 
to  you  if  you  had  called  him  a  great  man." 

"  Which  he  will  be,"  said  Spellman,  in  a  low  voice, 
quite  distinct  enough  to  be  heard. 

"  And  if  you  were  a  great  man,"  said  Power,  "  would 
you  put  down  fagging  V 

"  Stay  till  he  is,  and  then  he  will  tell  you,"  said  Shaw. 

Power  stuck  to  his  question  with  little  variation,  re- 
peating, "  Granville,  are  you  for  or  against  fagging  ?  do 
tell  us." 

Granville  was  against  tyrannical  fagging,  he  said,  but 
in  moderate  bounds  he  thought  it  a  good  custom.  It 
taught  boys  to  bear  and  to  obey  ;  he  had  been  a  fag  him- 
self, and  he  thought  it  had  done  him  good  i  it  hadmade  a 
man  of  him. 

Some  conversation  followed  as  to  what  was  tyranni- 
cal fagging.  Upon  the  whole,  Granville  acknowledged 
it  was  difficult  to  prevent  tyranny  where  there  was 
power. 

"  A  good  pun  against  you,  Power,"  interrupted  Shaw. 

Granville  looked  above  a  pun,  and  concluded,  as  Pow- 
er bending  forward  would  have  his  sentence,  "  It  never 
can  be  abolished,  and  therefore  there  is  no  use  in  talk- 
ing more  about  it." 

Upon  this  last  point  Lewis  differed  from  him,  because, 
as  he  re-urged,  fjigging  had  been  abolished  at  his  school, 
and  in  others  which  he  named. 

Now  Granville  could  not  bear  contradiction,  at  least 
he  could  not  bear  it  at  home ;  he  had  been  forced  to 
bear  it  at  school.  But  when  Spellman  was  by,  and 
ready  to  assent  to,  and  support  all  he  said,  and  to  won- 
der that  anybody  could  be  of  another  opinion,  his  first 
fault  of  temper  returned.    The  moment  Lewis  differed 


392  FRANK. 

from  him,  he  looked  down,  proudly  displeased  that  a  lit- 
tle boy,  or  at  least  a  boy  who  was  not  of  his  age,  or  of 
the  fixsi  forms,  should  venture  to  contradict  him,  to  rea- 
son, and  to  reason  better  than  he  did.  This  was  too 
provoking  :  Granville  reasoned  no  longer,  but  repeated 
dryly,  that  fagging  never  would  be  abolished. 

Lewis  observed,  that  if  people  had  thought  so  about 
the  slave  trade,  probably  that  never  would  have  been 
abolished. 

"  We  must  keep  clear  of  politics,"  said  Spellman. 
There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Frank,  with  some  hesita- 
tion, said,  "  I  don't  quite  understand  Mr.  Granville." 
Granville  did  not  explain. 

"  You  will  quite  understand  when  you  go  to  school," 
said  Shaw ;  "  meantime,  take  some  sauce  to  your  pud- 
ding." 

"  While  you  can  get  it,"  added  Spellman,  laughing.  ' ' 
"  I  thought  you  had  been  on  the  other  side  of  the 
question,"  said  Frank,  looking  up  in  Granville's  face. 

"  You  thought  wrong  then,  my  little  gentleman,"  said 
Granville. 

Frank  said  he  was  sorry  for  it,  and  he  wished  to  say 
more  ;  but  not  used  to  speak  before  so  many  boys,  was 
overawed  :  however,  he  ventured  to  say  that  he  did  not 
see  why  fagging  should  not  be  abolished  ;  he  did  not  see 
why  great  boys  should  trample  on  little  boys. 

"  You  may  not  see  why,"  said  Power,  "  but  they  will 
always  do  it." 

"  Not  always,  not  with  us,"  said  Lewis  ;  "  they  are 
not  allowed." 

"Who  can  hinder  them,  I  want  to  know?"  asked 
Power. 

"The  master,  the  laws,  and  ourselves,"  answered 
Lewis ;  "  fagging  is  abolished  with  us,  and  I  hope  it  will 
be  so  everywhere  soon." 

"  You  may  hope,  but  it  will  not,"  said  Cressingham, 
"  though  I  am  not  sure  but  it  ought." 

"  I  am  sure  it  ought  not,"  said  Power ;  "  that  would  be 
too  hard  upon  me,  too  bad,  just  come  up  last  year  to  be 
master,  after  being  fag  so  many  years." 

Frank  looked  at  him,  and  felt  that  he  should  be  sorry 
to  be  his  fag.     Shaw  quickly  interrupted  the  look,  nod- 
ded to  him,  and  said, 
"  You  are  right  there,  my  little  lad." 
*'  What  do  you  mean  V  said  Power. 


FRANK.  393 

**  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean — the  hot  poker 
and  the  eyebrows.     Remember  your  fag  Simpson." 

"  Oh,  tell  us,  will  you  1"  said  Spellman. 

"  Oh  !  we  must  not  tell  tales  out  of  school." 

"  Tell  what  you  will,"  said  Power, "  but  do  not  forget 
what  you  did  to  Hamilton  when  he  did  not  clean  your 
shoes  to  please  you  ;  or  rather  what  you  could  not  do, 
for  the  little  spirit  got  the  better  of  you,  I  think." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Shaw,  "  I  made  him  lick 
the  shoe  at  last ;  I  bent  the  proud  Hamilton  back  to  it, 
or  I  would  have  seen  why  ;  and  a  good  joke  it  was,  and 
horrible  faces  he  made ;  and  he  said  it  was  poison.  If 
the  shoe  was  not  clean,  it  was  his  own  fault,  you  know. 
But  the  hot  poker  was  too  bad,  and  the  flogging  you 
gave  him  for  not  lying  still  under  it." 

"It  was  his  own  fault — if  he  had  lain  still  as  I  bid 
him,  he  would  not  have  been  burned  or  beaten  either," 
said  Power. 

"  For  shame  !  gentlemen,"  exclaimed  Granville,  in  a 
tone  so  much  louder  than  usual,  that  some  of  the  heads 
of  the  large  table  turned  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Was  that  Horace's  voice !"  said  Lady  Chepstow. 

"  It  was,  ma'am,"  replied  Horace. 

"  I  hope  Horace  is  taking  care  of  the  gentlemen  at 
that  table,"  said  Lord  Chepstow. 

"  Excellent  care,  my  lord,"  answered  Spellman. 

In  the  same  instant  Granville  held  up  his  glass  to 
Shaw,  who  answered  by  a  nod,  and  holding  up  his  glass, 
it  was  filled,  swallowed,  returned  to  its  place,  quick  as 
ready,  present,  fire. 

Frank,  who  had  very  much  liked  Granville's  loud  "  for 
shame,"  and  who  thought  he  was  now  sure  of  his  opin- 
ion, looked  up  to  him  again,  the  moment  he  put  down 
his  glass,  and  smiling,  said,  "  Now  you  are  convinced 
Lewis  was  right." 

Granville  was  silent,  and  coloured,  but  whether  from 
shame  or  anger  Frank  could  not  be  certain. 

Granville  exerted  himself  afterward,  and  talked  more 
than  usual,  and  very  well,  on  various  subjects;  but  he 
never  addressed  one  word  to  Lewis,  to  whom  he  seemed 
to  have  taken  a  dislike,  Frank  could  not  conceive  why. 
He  could  hardly  imagine  that  he  was  offended  merely 
by  Lewis's  differing  from  him  in  opinion,  and  by  his 
having  dared  to  contradict  and  conquer  him  in  argu- 
ment. 

R3 


394  PRANK. 

After  dinner,  when  the  ladies  left  the  room,  Frank 
and  Lewis  rose  to  go  with  them. 

"  You  are  going,  I  see,"  said  Granville,  coldly  and 
ceremoniously,  to  Lewis  ;  "  you  will  always  do  as  you 
please  in  this  house,  I  hope."  He  nodded  more  gra- 
ciously to  Frank,  adding,  "  Spellman  will  follow  you 
soon,  and  show  you  the  lions." 

Spellman,  though  he  would  rather  have  stayed  with 
the  gentlemen,  followed  Frank  directly,  for  which  Frank 
was  very  sorry,  as  he  wanted  to  walk  in  the  park  alone 
with  Lewis. 

Frank  was  taken  by  Spellman  to  the  stable,  and  the 
kennel,  and  the  pheasantry,  and  the  armoury;  and  he 
would  have  been  entertained,  but  that  fagging  lay  heavy 
at  his  heart.  The  walk  in  the  park,  however,  was  re- 
freshing after  the  hot  dinner;  but  Spellman  kept  on 
talking  and  flattering,  and  he  was  such  a  flatterer  that 
Frank  grew  sick  of  him.  Spellman  was  probably 
equally  tired  of  Frank,  for  when  they  had  finished  their 
walk,  when  he  had  lodged  them  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  furnished  them  with  coffee,  he  left  them ;  and  as 
the  window  was  open,  Lewis  heard  him  calling  out, 
"  I'm  off"  duty  now,  stay  for  me — hard  duty  it  was — it's 
fair  I  should  have  some  fun." 

Frank  was  glad  to  have  got  rid  of  him  at  any  rate. 
Lewis  was  called  by  some  one  to  play  at  chess.  Frank 
stood  by,  wishing  he  could  play  at  any  thing,  listening 
first  to  what  one  lady  said,  and  then  another,  and 
heard  a  great  deal  of  talking,  but  nothing  interested  him. 
His  mother  was  at  a  distance  with  Lady  Chepstow,  who 
spoke  in  a  whisper.  Nobody  knew  that  Frank  was 
standing  there,  till  Granville  and  his  party  came  into 
the  room.  Shaw,  as  he  passed,  laughed  at  Frank's  dole- 
ful face,  and  said,  "  There's  a  fish  out  of  water — no,  a 
tame  bird  dying  of  the  pip." 

Before  Frank  could  guess  what  sort  of  death  this  was, 
Mr.  Power  followed.  Power  neither  heard  the  wit,  nor 
saw  the  object ;  but  stumbling  over  Frank's  feet,  won- 
dered how  his  feet  came  there,  begged  his  pardon  if  he 
had  hurt  him,  but  took  coffee  without  hearing  Frank's 
reply. 

Cressingham  was  saying  something  about  Spellman, 
and  could  not  attend  to  any  thing  else.  Granville,  how- 
ever, stopped,  and  said  to  Frank,  "  Have  you  ever  seen 
Egypt  ?"    Frank,  bewildered,  was  uncommonly  stupid. 


FRANK.  395 

and  looked  in  his  face  without  answering.  Lewis  inter- 
rupted his  game  of  chess,  and  answered  for  him,  "  No, 
Frank,  you  have  not  seen  the  Tray^Is  in  Egypt,  that 
great  book  on  the  table." 

What  a  blessing  it  is  to  have  a  friend  who  has  some 
sense,  when  we  have  none  of  our  own !  a  friend,  who 
will  even  lose  a  game  at  chess  to  serve  us.  Lewis  lost 
his  game,  and  went  with  Frank  to  Egypt.  Frank  thought 
he  should  now  be  comfortable,  and  he  only  wanted  Mary 
t(f  join  them,  but  Mary  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  stir : 
she  looked  uncommonly  stupid  too.  The  Miss  Gran- 
villes,  who  saw  Frank  beckoning,  were  so  obliging  as  to 
go  to  the  table  with  her,  but  they  had  seen  Egypt  sev- 
eral times  before,  that  is  to  say,  had  turned  it  over. 
They  were  very  polite  about  the  pyramids,  and  every 
thing;  but  their  standing  by  and  talking,  as  he  thought, 
a  little  affectedly,  disturbed  Frank.  He  looked  at  the 
pyramids  almost  without  seeing  them,  or  knowing  what 
they  were,  and  the  young  ladies,  he  was  conscious, 
must  think  him  nearly  a  fool.  He  whispered,  "  Go  back 
to  your  seat,  will  you,  Mary  T"  The  Miss  Granvilles 
went  with  her  ;  but  Spellman  came  in,  and  seeing  him 
alone,  would  help  him  to  turn  over  the  leaves ;  though 
Frank  thanked  him,  and  said  he  could  turn  them  over 
for  himself.  But  Spellman  began  to  tell  him  the  book 
was  very  valuable,  that  it  cost  so  much ;  Frank  gave  it 
up,  and  longed  to  go  to  bed,  but  dared  not,  because  he 
was  afraid  Spellman  would  go  with  him  to  show  him 
the  way  to  his  room.  At  last  he  saw  his  mother  get  up 
and  leave  the  room,  and  he  darted  after  her.  He  had  a 
great  deal  to  say,  but  he  could  say  little,  he  was  so  ex- 
cessively sleepy.  While  his  mother  was  taking  his 
goods  for  him  out  of  the  chaise-box,  he  stretched,  and 
yawned,  and  said, 

"  Poor  Mary,  I  hope  she  has  been  asleep  this  hour." 

But  she  answered  from  a  little  room  within  her  moth- 
'er's— 

"  Oh  no,  I  am  not  asleep.  I  cannot  get  to  sleep.  Do 
not  you  wish  we  were  at  home  again,  Frank  1" 

"  That  I  do,"  said  Frank. 

The  next  morning  Frank  came  into  his  mother's  room. 
"  Good  morning  to  you,  dear  mother,"  said  he.  "  I  am 
sure  Colonel  Birch  was  right,  and  that  you  have  made 
rae  too  happy  at  home." 


890  FRAKK. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  my  dear  child,"  said  his  mother, 
*'if  you  are  to  suffer  for  it." 

"  No,  mother,  I  will  not  suffer,  nor  shall  you.  Frank 
is  himself  again  this  morning,"  said  he,  smiling. 

Mary,  hearing  Frank's  voice,  came  out  of  her  little 
room  ready  dressed  ;  but  looking  mournfully,  she  said, 

"  I  am  very  sorry  we  are  to  stay  here  a  whole  fort- 
night.'' 

"  Do  not  be  sorry,  Mary,"  said  Frank,  "  for  though  it 
is  disagreeable,  I  am  sure  it  will  do  roe  a  great  deal  ef 
good  " 

After  a  night's  refreshing  sleep,  he  had  recovered  his 
sense  and  his  spirit.  He  had  been  up  above  an  hour 
with  Lewis,  who  had  settled  his  mind,  be  said,  on  those 
points  which  had  disturbed  him  most,  fags  and  fagging. 
He  was  exceedingly  sorry  that  he  could  not  go  with 
Lewis  to  that  school  of  his,  where  neither  fags  nor  fag- 
ging were  allowed ;  but  since  he  could  not  abolish  the 
vile  custom  by  any  thing  he  could  say  or  do,  all  that  re- 
mained was  to  do  his  duty,  if  he  was  ever  called  upon 
to  be  a  fag.  Frank  was  determined  he  would  bear  every 
thing  well,  unless,  said  he,  it  should  come  to  red  hot  po- 
kers, or  any  such  tyranny  as  ought  not  to  be  borne. 

"  But  what  would  you  do  then  if  it  did  ]"  said  Mary. 

"  I  would,"  said  Frank,  "  boldly,  before  my  tyrant's 
face,  and  before  all  his  school-feUows,  come  forward, 
and  ask  his  school-fellows  and  my  school-fellows,  and 
his  master  and  my  master,  whether  this  ought  to  be  borne 
or  not." 

Frank  acted  the  coming  forward,  as  he  spoke,  with 
great  spirit ;  and  looked,  as  he  felt,  like  a  little  hero. 

"  Bravo,  Frank  !"  said  his  father,  looking  at  him  from 
his  dressing-room  door  :  "  you  would  do  what  was  quite 
right :  but  I  promise  you  that  I  will  inquire  into  the 
facts,  and  you  shall  not  be  sent  to  any  school  where  1 
know  that  such  tyranny  is  practised.  I  do  not  say  per- 
mitted, for  were  it  known,  1  am  sure  it  would  not  be  suf- 
fered." 

"  Thank  you  father,"  said  Frank ; "  then,  if  I  have  a  tol- 
erable master,  I  will  be  as  good  a  fag  as  ever  was  seen ; 
you  shall  find,  and  Colonel  Birch  shall  find,  that  I  am 
not  spoiled,  though  I  have  been  so  happy,  my  dear 
mother,  at  home;  I  will' not  be  lazy,  nor  cross,  nor  a 
telltale  ;  but  one  thing  I  am  resolved  upon,  if  it  comes 
to  the  trial,  I  will  toll  no  lie  for  anybody  ;  I  will  speak 


PRANK.  £39T 

the  truth  always ;  and  I  am  able,  I  hope,  to  bear  the  con- 
sequences." 

His  father  came  out  from  the  inner  room  while  Frank 
was  saying  this,  and  he  laid  his  hand  upon  Frank's  head, 
and  said, 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  son ;  and  if  you  keep  to 
this  resolution,  and  hold  to  such  principles,  you  will  be 
a  blessing  to  your  mother  and  to  me." 

Frank,  when  he  heard  these  words,  thought  he  was 
able  to  bear  any  thing,  and  to  do  any  thing.  He  saw  his 
mother's  eyes  fixed  fondly  upon  him,  and  Mary  again 
looking  bright  and  happy.  In  high  spirits,  he  ran  down 
stairs  to  see  whether  breakfast  was  ready.  In  the  hall 
which  he  was  to  cross,  to  go  to  the  breakfast-room,  Gran- 
ville, the  whole  schoolboy  party,  and  some  others  were 
standing,  and  as  Frank  passed,  Shaw  tried  to  catch  hold 
of  him  :  "  Ah,  tame  bird,  are  you  alive  this  morning  ?" 

"  Not  a  tame  bird,"  said  Frank,  escaping  from  him, 
"  not  to  be  caught  by  you." 

"  He  will  be  tamed  soon,  though,"  cried  Power,  seiz- 
ing hold  of  Frank's  arm. 

"  May  be  so,  but  not  by  you,  Mr.  Power,"  said  Frank, 
standing  still,  but  steadily,  under  his  grasp. 

"  Let  the  boy  go,  if  you  please.  Power,"  said  Gran- 
ville, calmly. 

And  Power  let  him  go,  saying  disdainfully,  "  Who 
wants  to  hold  him  V 

*'  One  moment,  I  heg  your  pardon,"  said  Spellman, 
setting  himself  with  his  spread  arms  before  Frank,  to 
stop  him  as  he  was  springing  forward  :  "  May  I  ask  you 
one  question  ?" 

"  Any  you  please,"  said  Frank ;  "  but,"  added  he,  in 
a  playful  tone,  "  I'm  to  choose  whether  I'll  answer  it  or 
not." 

"  Then  tell  me,"  said  he,  winking  over  Frank's  head 
at  the  by-standers ;  "  Tell  me,  my  little  man,  if  you 
were  to  choose,  of  these  four  gentlemen,  whose  fag 
would  you  be  ?" 

Frank  paused,  considered,  and  answered,  "I  shall 
say  the  name  you  wish  me  to  say,  but  not  because  you 
expect  it,  not  to  flatter  anybody :  I  should  choose  Mr. 
Granville." 

Granville  smiled. 

"  Well  said,"  cried  Cressingham  ;  "  but  tell  us  why — 
why  did  not  you  choose  me  ?" 
34 


398  PRANK. 

"  1  don't  know  enough  of  you,  sir,"  said  Frank. 

*'  As  much  as  of  Granville,"  said  Cressingham. 
,>  "  Not  quite  so  much,"  said  Frank. 

-^'^^  "  Why !    What  do  you  know  of  him  V  said  Cressing- 

■^  -_        ham. 

1^^  "  Something,"  answered  Frank ;  "  something  that  he 

>-f        said." 

"  Said  r  repeated  Shaw,  "  When  1" 

"  Yesterday,  at  dirmer,  Mr.  Granville  said,  '  For 
shame,  gentlemen.' " 

They  all  laughed.  "  He  has  caught  Granville's  indig- 
nant tone  too,"  said  Shaw ;  "  1  like  the  voice  particu- 
larly." 

"  I  like  the  feeling  better,"  said  Cressingham. 

"I  like  the  boy," said  Granville, drawing  Frank  closer 
to  him  ;  "  for  the  future,  my  dear  little  fellow,  you  may 
call  me  Granville  or  Horace,  and  I  will  call  you  Frank." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  would  rather  caU  you  Mr. 
Granville,  if  you  please,"  said  Frank. 

"  Why  1  you  call  your  friend  Lewis,  Lewis,  don't 
you  V 

"I  do ;  because  he  is  my  friend,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir,  and  I  intend  to  be  your  friend,  sir,"  said 
Granville,  in  a  tone  of  familiarity  unusual  to  him. 

♦'  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Frank,  still  without  changing 
his  manner. 

"  He  does  not  understand,"  said  Spellman. 

"  He  does,"  said  Granville,  "  and  1  understand  him." 

A  servant  came  to  say  that  breakfast  was  ready. 
Mr.  Granville  again  placed  Frank  beside  him,  telling 
him  this  was  always  to  be  his  place. 

This  day  Frank  was  much  happier  than  he  had  been 
yesterday.  In  the  first  place,  his  father  this  day,  in 
consequence  of  all  he  saw  and  heard  of  Messieurs 
Shaw  and  Power,  and  of  the  abuses  of  the  fagging 
system  that  prevailed  at  their  school,  determined  that 
Frank  should  never  go  there.  Relieved  from  this  dread, 
Frank  felt  happier,  because  he  became  more  accus- 
tomed to  the  new  things  and  people,  by  which  and  by 
whom  he  was  surrounded.  He  considered  that  he  was 
to  be  at  Bellombre  only  a  fortnight,  and  that  what  was 
to  happen  afterward  at  school  was  the  point  of  most 
consequence  to  him ;  therefore,  Mr.  Granville,  whom  he 
began  to  look  upon  as  his  future  master  and  protector, 
was  the  only  person  whom  he  need  be  anxious  to  please 


FRANK. 

Frank  attended  to  all  he  said  and  did,  and  talked  much 
of  him  and  his  character  to  Lewis,  and  to  his  mother 
and  Mary,  whenever  he  could  speak  to  them,  but  that 
was  seldom.  Some  things  he  could  not  understand  nor 
like.  He  could  not  understand  why  Mr.  Granville  was 
sometimes  so  bashful,  and  at  other  times  so  haughty  ; 
and  he  could  not  bear  his  letting  Spellman  go  on  flat- 
tering him.  He  found  that  Spellman  was  the  son  of 
some  vulgar  person,  and  was  vulgar  in  his  manners, 
mean  in  his  habits,  and  without  information,  or  any 
quality  to  recommend  him  except  good-nature. 

The  fact  was,  that  he  had  been  Granville's  first  com- 
panion before  lie  went  to  school,  and  Granville  had 
then  early  acquired  the  habit  of  liking  his  flattery, 
which  he  mistook  for  affection,  and  was  glad  to  have 
Spellman  to  speak  for  him,  which  relieved  his  natural 
bashfulness.  At  school,  and  when  he  mixed  with  other 
boys,  his  shyness  was  conquered :  competition  and 
emulation  called  out  his  abihties  ,•  his  pride  of  rank  and 
wealth  were  obliged  to  give  way  to  a  better  sort  of 
pride ;  he  exerted  himself,  and  excelled  in  talents ;  he 
kept  company  with  his  equals  and  superiors,  and  formed 
a  friendship  with  Cressingham,  who  was  a  boy  of 
honour.  Whenever  he  returned  home,  however,  the 
habits  he  had  formed  before  he  went  to  school  recurred, 
and  Spellman  was  as  necessary  at  Bellombre  as  a  fag 
was  at  school.  He  now  considered  Frank  as  com- 
pletely under  his  protection,  believing  that  it  was  set- 
tled that  he  should  take  him  back  with  him  to  school, 
and  have  him  for  his  future  fag.  For  some  days  Frank 
found  him  very  kind,  and  eager  to  secure  for  him  his 
full  share,  and,  in  truth,  more  than  his  share,  of  every 
pleasure  or  diversion.  In  the  mornings,  there  was  fish- 
ing, boating,  riding,  driving.  Granville  mounted  Frank 
well,  and  was,  as  he  said,  surprised  to  find  "  how  admi- 
rably the  little  fellow  rode."  Spellman  was  not  only 
surprised,  but  pretended  to  be  perfectly  astonished ; 
Frank  was  ashamed,  and  disliked  this  coarse  flattery, 
but  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  general  admiration 
which  he  thought  he  saw,  that  his  horsemanship  and 
his  cleverness  excited;  especially  Granville's  silent  nod 
in  reply  to  the  praises  was  gratifying.  However,  his 
mother  and  Lewis  had  put  him  upon  his  guard  against 
vanity;  he  knew  his  own  foible,  and  he  behaved  with 
great    propriety.      Cressingham   liked    his    modesty. 


'400  FRANK. 

Shaw  and  Power  did  not  care  about  him,  when  they 
had  not  an  opportunity  of  laughing  at  him  as  a  tame 
boy  or  a  greenhorn.  Frank  became  quite  at  his  ease, 
and  sometimes  rose  in  high  spirits,  though  still  he  was 
not  so  happy  as  at  home.  It  was  quite  a  different 
thing.  Mary  was  never  with  him ;  he  was  scarcely 
ever  with  his  father  and  mother,  and  he  had  none  of  his 
ovsTi  employments.  It  was  diversion  or  idleness  all  day 
long ;  and  every  night,  when  he  went  to  bed,  he  was 
either  tired  of  doing  nothing,  or  his  head  was  in  a 
sort  of  puzzle,  from  the  variety  of  things  he  had  seen. 
His  father  and  mother  had  left  him  as  much  as  possible 
to  himself;  they  never  watched  him.  At  the  end  of 
every  day,  when  he  came  to  wish  his  mother  good-night 
in  her  dressing-room,  it  was  his  delight  to  tell  her  all 
that  he  could  recollect  of  what  had  happened  to  him ; 
and  he  sometimes  stayed  for  half  an  hour  after  he  had 
begun  by  saying  he  was  so  tired  he  could  scarcely 
speak.  Mary  went  to  bed  early,  and  was  generally 
asleep  when  he  came,  but  sometimes  he  awakened  her 
by  his  late  talkings,  and  of  this  she  was  always  very 
glad,  when  she  could  hear  from  her  little  room  what 
was  said  :  she  used  to  leave  her  door  open  on  purpose, 
but  she  generally  found  it  shut  in  the  morning.  Frank's 
mother,  at  length,  limited  his  chattering  time  to  ten 
minutes,  after  which  she  was  inexorable ;  and  he  was 
obliged  to  march  off. 

One  advantage  which  she  hoped  from  his  visit  to 
Bellombre  was,  as  she  told  him,  that  it  would  wean 
him  from  the  habit  of  expecting  sympathy  such  as  he 
had  enjoyed  at  home.  She  thought  it  was  good  for  him 
to  be  separated  from  the  friends  with  whom  he  had 
been  used  to  live,  especially  from  Mary,  of  whose  kind 
and  constant  sympathy  he  would  much  feel  the  loss  at 
school.  Besides  the  having  been  accustomed  to  too 
much  sympathy,  he  had,  perhaps,  been  too  much  nur- 
tured by  the  fostering  dew  of  praise ;  he  had  been  led 
even  by  his  affection  for  his  father  and  mother,  and  by 
his  respect  and  admiration  for  them,  to  make  their  praise 
and  their  approbation  the  object  and  motive  of  all  his 
actions.  His  parents  now  spoke  to  him  very  seriously 
upon  the  danger  of  this  to  his  future  character. 

They  told  him,  that  when  he  should  be  separated 
from  them,  as  he  soon  would  be,  he  must  depend  en- 
tirely upon  his  own  principles,  and  upon  the  conscious- 


PRANK.  '401 

u6ss  of  doing-  what  is  right,  when  perhaps  nobody  in 
this  world  would  know  it,  and  when  he  would  have 
neither  sympathy  nor  praise. 

Frank  had  some  slight  trials  of  this  kind  while  he 
was  at  Bellombre. 

Several  little  boys,  the  sons  of  gentlemen  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  some  the  sons  of  officers  who  were 
quartered  in  the  adjacent  country-town,  were  frequent- 
ly invited  during  his  visit  there,  chiefly  for  his  amuse- 
ment. One  day  Frank  proposed  to  play  at  follow  the 
leader^  which  he  had  long  desired,  and  there  were  now 
boys  enough.  Their  spirits  rose  as  they  went  on.  One 
leader  vied  with  another — no  one  would  be  left  behind. 
Till  at  last,  when  Frank  was  leader,  he,  eager  to  dis- 
tinguish himself  by  noble  daring,  vaulted  over  certain 
network  fences  of  the  pheasantry,  and,  as  he  thought, 
cleared  them  without  doing  any  damage,  and  pursued 
his  way  straight  across  the  pheasant-yard ;  others  fol- 
lowed, pushing  headlong  through  the  network,  which 
they  kicked  down  level  with  the  ground.  The  birds, 
alarmed  at  this  sudden  invasion,  ran  from  side  to  side 
to  their  territory,  and  at  last  found  and  flew  out  of  the 
gap  in  the  network.  Much  alarmed,  the  boys  now  pur- 
sued the  birds,  but  pursued  in  vain.  Some  of  them 
could  not  be  recovered.  Lady  Chepstow,  who  was  par- 
ticularly fond  of  her  pheasantry,  was  much  displeased 
when  she  heard  what  had  happened.  And  who  did  the 
mischief?  was  the  question.  Some  thought  Frank  had 
given  the  first  kick.  He  was  quite  sure  that  he  had  not, 
and  that  the  damage  had  been  done  by  his  followers ; 
but  then  he  was  leader,  and  had  brought  them  into  the 
scrape.  He  took  the  whole  blame  upon  himself,  and  a 
great  deal  he  had  to  bear.  But  what  vexed  him  most 
was,  that  some  of  the  boys,  who  did  most  mischief,  be- 
haved shabbily,  and  did  not  give  him  any  thanks  or 
credit  for  his  truth  and  generosity.  Lewis  was  not  of 
the  party.  Frank  could  not  even  tell  Mary  how  well 
he  had  behaved,  but  he  knew  it  himself,  that  was  his 
only  comfort. 

Many  slighter,  and  some  larger  instances  of  a  similar 
kind  occurred,  where  Frank,  more  strict  in  truth  than 
some  of  his  companions,  suffered  by  it  at  the  time.  But 
this  strengthened  his  mind,  and  he  felt  proud  of  being 
able  to  do  without  praise,  or  even  the  dear  reward  of 
34* 


402  FRANK. 

his  father  and  mother  and  Mary's  sympathy  and  ap- 
probation. 

One  evening  the  little  party  had  been  amusing  them- 
selves by  playing  at  cards.  Frank,  who  did  not  know 
how  to  play,  was  only  a  stander-by,  and  he  had  been 
rather  mortified  at  not  being  able  to  take  any  part  in 
the  diversion.  When  the  elder  boys  had  finished  their 
game,  and  were  gone  to  billiards,  he  took  up  the  cards 
and  began  to  show  off  to  the  little  boys  some  of  the 
tricks  which  he  had  seen  played  by  the  juggler,  which, 
for  the  moment,  made  him,  in  their  opinion,  a  man  of 
consequence.  General  surprise  and  admiration  were 
excited,  when  he  declared  that  he  could  undertake  to 
tell  what  card  in  the  pack  any  person  in  company  might 
choose.  This  could  not  be  believed !  they  defied  him. 
Frank  presented  the  cards  to  one  of  the  little  boys,  and 
bid  him  choose  one  and  take  it  from  the  pack  ;  he  did 
so :  then  Frank  desired  him  to  replace  it,  and  then  to 
whisper  to  his  neighbour  the  name  of  the  card  he  had 
chosen.  This  was  done  accordingly ;  Frank  then  ex- 
amining the  cards  with  great  gravity,  threw  one  after 
another  upon  the  table,  saying,  "  It  was  not  this,  it  was 
not  that,  nor  that,  nor  this ;  but  it  was  this,"  said  he, 
putting  his  finger  on  the  king  of  clubs. 

How  wonderful !  it  was  the  very  card  the  boy  had 
thought  of  Frank  was  looked  upon  with  astonishment 
by  all  the  little  spectators.  "  Well,  you  are  indeed  a 
conjurer !"  cried  they. 

Frank  enjoyed  their  surprise,  and  was  not  a  little  ela- 
ted by  the  superiority  which  his  being  able  to  perform 
this  feat  gave  him  over  those  who  had  lately  looked 
down  upon  him  with  pity,  if  not  with  contempt,  for  his 
ignorance  of  all  games  at  cards,  even  of  "  beggar-my- 
neigkbour."  One  of  the  spectators,  however,  more  in- 
credulous, would  not  believe  what  he  had  seen,  and 
though  the  others  asked  if  he  would  not  believe  his  own 
eyes,  he  persisted  in  thinking  that  what  had  appeared 
to  have  been  done  had  not  been  done  fairly.  Frank  ask- 
ed what  he  meant  by  fairly  ?  The  boy  answered,  "  I 
mean  that  I  think  you  overheard  the  whisper,  and  so 
knew  the  name  of  the  card  fixed  upon." 

"  I  assure  you  that  I  did  not,"  said  Frank ;  "  that  in- 
deed would  not  have  been  fair." 

"  Well,  then,  somebody  made  a  sign  to  you  which  told 
you  when  you  came  to  the  right." 


FRANK.  403 

'•  No :  I  have  no  friend  here  but  Lewis ;  and,  Lewis, 
will  you  go  out  of  the  room  while  I  do  it  over  again  1" 

His  friend  Lewis  went  out  of  the  room  to  oblige  him, 
while  a  new  card  was  to  be  fixed  upon.  Frank  retired 
to  the  farthest  end  of  the  apartment  while  the  name  of 
the  new  card  was  whispered,  that  he  might  this  time  be 
free  from  all  suspicion.  The  doubter  and  all  the  judges 
acknowledged  that  it  was  impossible  he  should  this  time 
have  overheard.  And  yet  this  time,  as  before,  the  mo- 
ment it  appeared,  he  told  the  card  which  had  been 
pitched  upon.  It  was  the  knave  of  diamonds.  All 
were  in  admiration  except  the  obstinate  doubter,  who 
now  looked  not  only  incredulous,  but  vexed,  in  the 
midst  of  his  delighted  companions.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  him  now,  general  V  said  they.  They  called 
him  general,  or  the  little  general,  because  he  was  the 
son  of  an  officer,  and  had  often  said  he  would  be  a  gen- 
eral when  he  should  be  a  man ;  he  was  an  honest,  gen- 
erous boy,  but  he  was  too  fond  of  laying  wagers,  and 
betting  upon  all  occasions  in  favour  of  his  own  opinion. 

"  1  will  lay  you  any  wager  I  know  how  you  do  it ;  if 
it  is  not  by  the  ear,  it  must  be  by  the  eye.  You  guess 
by  the  countenance.  I  saw  you  look  at  your  sister,  or 
your  cousin,  is  she  ■?  and  I  dare  say  she  made  some  sign 
to  you  the  moment  she  came  near  the  table." 

Mary,  who  had  joined  the  circle  of  spectators,  now 
blushing,  declared  that  she  had  made  no  sign  to  Frank ; 
she  would  go  away,  she  said,  and  they  might  try  it  over 
again.  She  withdrew.  Frank  assured  the  little  gen- 
eral that  he  was  mistaken  in  his  suspicions,  but  he  ex- 
claimed, 

"You  must  have  some  way  of  doing  it — I  know 
there's  some  trick  in  it." 

"  I  do  not  deny  that,"  said  Frank ;  "  I  have  some  way 
of  doing  it,  certainly,  but  you  have  not  found  out  my 
secret." 

"  Well,  I  will  lay  you  any  wager  you  please,"  said  he 
to  Frank,  "  that  if  your  friend  and  this  young  lady  are 
both  out  of  the  room,  and  if  you  stand  so  that  you  can- 
not see  our  faces,  you  will  never  be  able  to  tell  the  card 
I  choose." 

Frank  said  he  would  lay  any  wager  that  he  could 
telJ  it. 

*'  Come,  then,  I'll  lay  you  this  silver  pencil-case  of 
mine  to  that  ivory  rule  you  showed  me,  that  you  cannot.** 


404  FRANK. 

"  Done !"  said  Frank,  hastily. 
•    "Done,"  said  the  other;  but  Frank  recollecting  him- 
self, drew  back,  and  said,  "  No,  I  will  not  lay  any  wager 
about  it." 

Upon  which  aU,  and  the  little  general  the  loudest,  ex- 
claimed that  he  could  not  draw  back — that  this  was  not 
fair.  "  I  draw  back  because  I  think  it  would  not  be 
fair  to  go  on,"  said  Frank  ;  "  I  am  quite  certain  that  I 
can  do  it." 

The  little  general  laughed  rather  sneeringly,  and  said, 
"  This  is  a  fine  way  of  getting  off;"  but  Frank  persisted 
that  he  would  not  lay  any  wager  about  it ;  but  he  would 
prove  to  them  that  he  could  do  it.  He  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  spectators.  Lewis  and  Mary  went  out  of 
the  room.  The  knave  of  hearts  was  the  card  which  the 
little  general  chose ;  and  to  secure  himself  from  that 
wonderful  quickness  of  hearing  which  he  suspected 
Frank  to  possess,  he  would  not  even  whisper  it ;  he 
wrote  it  down  on  a  slip  of  paper,  and  put  it  into  the 
hand  of  a  friend,  which  closed  upon  it  instantly,  so  that 
it  could  not  have  been  seen.  Frank,  however,  without 
hesitation,  named  the  card  which  had  been  thought  of, 
and  the  moment  it  appeared  said,  "  That  is  it,  the  knave 
of  hearts." 

'•  I  give  up,"  said  the  officer's  son;  "  I  am  quite  con- 
vinced that  you  do  it  fairly."  He  ran  to  call  in  Mary 
and  Lewis,  and  repeated  the  same  to  them ;  adding, 
that  he  begged  Frank's  pardon,  and  theirs  for  having 
doubted  them. 

"  But  what  a  fool  you  were,  begging  your  pardon. 
Master  Frank,"  said  Spellman,  "not  to  stick  to  your 
bet ;  you  would  have  fairly  won  his  silver  pencil-case." 

"  He  has  shown  that  he  can  both  play  tricks  and  be 
honest  too,  I  think,"  said  Cressingham. 

Several  of  the  little  boys  expressed  a  great  desire  to 
know  how  the  trick  was  played,  and  Frank  said  he 
would  explain  it  to  them.  He  showed,  that  the  person 
who  was  to  play  the  trick  began  by  first  fixing  upon  a 
card,  suppose  the  three  of  hearts ;  then  he  lets  you 
choose  what  card  you  please,  and  in  the  meantime  he 
keeps  his  three  of  hearts  at  the  bottom  of  the  pack ; 
makes  you  put  yours  under  it,  keeps  the  three  of  hearts 
and  the  card  chosen,  close  together  in  shuffling,  and 
then  he  is  sure  that  they  must  be  found  together.  After- 
ward, in  looking  over  the  pack,  he  knows  that  the  card 


FRANK.  405 

next  the  three  of  hearts  must  be  that  which  was  chosen. 
"  That  is  all,  you  see,"  concluded  Frank ;  "  the  trick  is 
very  simple." 

"  Very  simple,  indeed,"  said  the  little  general,  "  now 
that  we  know  it." 

"  And  very  simple  of  you,  Frank,  to  show  it  to  them," 
said  Power ;  "  you  might  always  have  made  yourself  a 
man  of  some  consequence  in  the  world,  with  this  jug- 
gler trick,  if  you  had  kept  it  to  yourself." 

Power  walked  away  as  he  spoke ;  and  Cressingham, 
looking  at  Granville,  said,  "  Who  knows  but  Frank  may 
make  himself  of  some  consequence  in  the  world,  with- 
out the  assistance  of  any  juggler's  trick  T" 

Granville  gave  his  approving  nod  with  unusual  energy, 
which  pleased  both  Lewis  and  Mary  very  much. 

Granville  and  Cressingham  then  walked  away  to- 
gether, and  Spellman  following,  looked  back  and  said, 

"  For  all  that,  I  would  have  kept  my  secret  to  myself, 
if  I  were  you,  Master  Frank." 

"  So  would  I,  if  1  were  you,  Mr.  Spellman,"  answer- 
ed Frank. 

The  little  general,  and  Lewis,  and  Mary,  all  smiled 
and  thought  of  the  same  thing.  "  Alexander's  answer 
to  Parmenio,  was  not  that  what  made  you  smile  ■?"  said 
the  little  general.  "  It  was,"  said  Lewis.  The  rest  of 
the  young  people  looked  as  if  they  wished  to  under- 
stand, but  did  not.  Since  they  came  to  Bellombre, 
scarcely  any  allusions  had  ever  been  made  by  Lewis, 
Mary,  or  Frank,  to  any  thing  they  had  been  reading  at 
home.  Not  that  the  young  people  there  did  not  read  ; 
they  read  history  more  than  Frank  and  Mary  ever  read 
for  lessons ;  but  either  they  thought  it  pedantic  to  talk 
of  such  things,  or  they  had  no  pleasure  in  thinking  of 
them.  They  never  listened  with  interest  to  any  of  the 
conversation  of  grown-up  people  upon  literary  subjects, 
so  that  they  had  little  opportunity  of  feeling  the  advan- 
tage or  pleasure  of  what  they  had  read. 

This  officer's  son,  whom  we  shall  call  James,  was 
very  sprightly  and  entertaining ;  his  mother  was  fond  of 
reading,  and  from  her  he  had  learned  to  like  it.  He 
began  to  give  Frank  and  Lewis  a  very  entertaining  ac- 
count of  what  had  happened  to  his  father  in  Spain,  and 
the  different  countries  where  he  had  been  with  his  regi- 
ment. But  Lord  Chepstow  was  heard  to  say  something 
9bout  franking  letters,  and  Lewis  was  obliged  to  go 


IttR  PRANK. 

away  to  finish  ai  letter  for  home — the  old  story.  Frank 
said  he  would  remember,  to  tell  him  all  that  he  might 
hear  while  he  should  be  away.  Frank  found  that  this 
little  general's  father  was  one  of  those  officers  whom 
he  had  met  with  at  Colonel  Birch's  the  morning  of  the 
review,  and  the  boy  knew,  and  loved  Colonel  Birch,  so 
that  there  was  another  subject  of  agreeable  conversa- 
tion, and  reason  for  liking  one  another.  But  while  they 
were  talking  very  happily,  all  the  little  party  came  to 
ask  them  to  play  at  some  game  at  cards.  The  officer's 
son  answered  that  he  could  not  play  with  them  to- 
night. 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  of  it ! — thank  you,"  said  Frank ;  "  do 
stay  and  tell  me  entertaining  things,  and  do  not  go  to 
those  stupid  cards." 

*'  Stupid !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  boys,  who,  as  Frank 
observed,  had  a  bad  countenance.  "  You  say  stupid, 
because  you  cannot  play  any  game,  and  that  is  very 
stupid  indeed." 

Again  he  pulled  the  little  general's  elbow,  saying, 
"  You  are  not  stupid,  and  you  must  come  to  us.  Look, 
we  are  all  waiting  for  you,  general." 

"  Well,  only  one  game,"  answered  James,  following, 
but  as  if  he  was  led  away  against  his  will.  "  Only  one 
game,  for  I  want  to  talk  to  my  friend  here,"  said  he, 
drawing  Frank  along  with  him. 

"  And  why  cannot  your  friend  there  play  with  us,  like 
other  people  V  said  another  of  the  party. 

"  I  do  not  know  how,"  repeated  Frank,  feeling  asha- 
med, he  could  not  tell  why,  for  there  really  was  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of  in  not  knowing  how  to  play  at  cards. 

"  If  that  is  all,  we  will  soon  teach  you  how,"  said  one 
of  the  boys.  "  Commerce  is  the  easiest  game  in  the 
world — anybody  can  play  at  commerce.  Sit  down  with 
us,  and  I  will  sit  beside  you  and  teach  you.  Come,  now, 
sit  down,  you  have  no  excuse."  Frank  thought  that  he 
had  no  other  excuse,  and  he  forgot  that  no  excuse  was 
necessary ;  he  need  only  have  said  that  he  did  not 
choose  to  play.  He  sat  down,  but  he  said  he  would  not 
play  for  money.  The  officer's  son  said,  "  Certainly  not, 
till  you  know  how."  Frank  repeated  to  himself,  "I 
will  not  play  for  money  when  I  do  know  how."  The 
boy  who  undertook  to  teach  him,  now  showed  him 
what  cards  to  play  every  time  when  it  came  to  his  turn, 
and,  in  short,  taught  him  the  game,  in  which  no  skill,  or 


FRANK.  407 

rery  little,  seemed  necessary  ;  it  was  all,  or  almost  all, 
chance.  Frank  at  first  wondered  how  everybody  could 
be  so  eager  about  it ;  for,  thought  he,  "  it  is  no  merit 
of  theirs  whether  they  have  or  have  not  what  they  call 
good  luck  or  good  cards  dealt  to  them."  This  was  very 
true  ;  but  Frank  soon  felt  that  he  began  to  grow  eager 
like  the  rest,  and  was  pleased  and  proud  when  he  had 
good  luck,  and  vexed  and  mortified  when  he  had  ill  for- 
tune ;  though  there  v/as  nothing  to  be  lost  or  gained  by 
it,  since  they  were 'playing  for  nothing.  Frank  had 
good  cards  dealt  to  him  two  or  three  deals  running,  and 
he  was  delighted ;  his  colour  and  his  spirits  rose,  and 
now  he  was  extremely  eager  to  go  on. 

"  Now  you  know  the  game,  Frank,  and  play  as  well 
as  any  of  us,  let  us  play  for  something  ;  it  is  so  stupid 
playing  for  nothing." 

"As  little  as  you  please;  a  penny,  if  you  will,"  said 
the  boy,  whom  Frank  had  before  observed  had  a  bad 
countenance. 

Frank  was  not  quite  sure  that  it  was  right  to  play  for 
money ;  he  had  a  mind  to  go  to  ask  his  mother,  but  he 
was  ashamed.  He  half  got  up,  but  the  little  general 
whispered,  "  Have  not  you  a  penny  ]  if  you  have  not  I'll 
lend  you  one." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  have  a  penny :  I  have  plenty  of  money," 
replied  Frank. 

"  Then  sit  still,  can't  you  ?  what  signifies  a  penny — 
are  you  afraid  to  run  your  chance  of  losing  a  penny  V 
said  one  of  the  little  boys,  laughing. 

"  Not  a  bit  afraid  of  that,"  said  Frank. 

"  What  then,  must  you  go  to  ask  your  mamma  about 
every  penny  V 

Frank  blushed,  drew  his  penny  from  his  pocket,  and 
laid  it  in  the  middle  of  the  table  along  with  the  other 
pennies,  in  what  was  called  the  pool.  They  played, 
and  Frank  played  very  ill,  for  his  mind  was  disturbed  by 
the  doubt  of  whether  he  was  doing  right  or  wrong,  and 
lie  knew  but  little  of  what  he  was  about,  and  scarcely 
knew  one  card  from  another,  as  his  adviser  pulled  it  out 
of  his  hand.  He  did  not  know  how  it  happened — cer- 
tainly not  by  any  care  of  his  own,  perhaps  by  the  skill 
of  him  by  whom  he  was  directed,  or  perhaps  by  chance 
—but  he  won  frequently  ;  and  at  last,  all  the  rest  of  the 
party  having  lost,  except  himself  and  his  new  friend, 
they  two  were  to  play  for  the  whole  pool,  that  is,  for  all 


408  PRANK. 

the  halfpence  which  had  been  staked,  and  which  were 
now  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  Frank  did  not  care  for 
the  money,  but  he  wished  to  be  winner,  or,  as  he  called 
it,  to  be  victorious.  He  won,  exulted  in  his  victory,  and 
consented  to  play  again  for  one  other  penny,  as  he 
thought ;  but  after  he  had  dealt,  an  operation,  which,  as 
it  was  new  to  him,  took  up  all  his  attention,  he  saw  that 
there  was  silver  instead  of  pence  in  the  middle  of  the 
table  ;  and  he  was  told  that  they  were  now  playing  for 
silver,  for  that  it  was  too  vulgar,  too  stupid,  and  too 
miserly  to  play  for  halfpence.  Frank  would  have  liked 
to  have  stopped,  but  he  fancied  that  he  could  not  do  so 
now  that  the  game  was  begun ;  besides,  he  was  afraid 
of  being  thought  "  too  vulgar,"  "  too  stupid,"  "  too 
miserly,"  particularly  as  the  boy  with  the  bad  coun- 
tenance remarked  that  Frank  had  won  halfpence  enough 
already  from  them  all  to  pay  his  stake  now,  if  he  lost, 
"  and  therefore,"  said  he,  "  you  need  not  look  so 
anxious  about  your  pence." 

Frank  said  he  did  not  care  at  all  about  the  pence,  and 
went  on  playing ;  and  still,  though  he  was  really  not  in 
the  least  anxious  about  either  the  pence  or  the  silver, 
he  became,  as  before,  excessively  eager  to  win.  He 
was  also  proud  to  be  able  to  play  entirely  for  himself. 
The  little  general  was  the  most  eager  of  the  whole 
party,  and  his  temper  seemed  quite  altered,  as  Frank 
observed,  and  he  became  not  only  anxious,  but  quite  ill- 
humoured  and  agitated  as  the  game  ran  towards  the 
close,  which  was  to  decide  who  was  to  win  or  lose. 
Some  disputes  occurred,  many  cross  looks,  and  some 
cross  words.  Frank  did  not  like  this  at  all;  and  he 
wished  it  was  finished,  and  once  he  had  a  mind  to  throw 
down  his  cards,  and  give  it  up  and  go  away.  The  same 
thought  passed  in  his  mind  while  his  neighbour  was 
dealing ;  but  Frank  happened  to  have  such  good  cards 
this  time,  that  he  saw  he  should  win  the  game  if  he  did 
not  give  it  up,  and  he  stayed  and  played,  and,  to  his  sur- 
prise and  joy,  again  won,  and  won  the  whole. 

"And  is  all  this  mine !"  cried  Frank. 

"  Ay,  pocket  it,"  said  the  boy  with  the  bad  counte- 
nance, in  a  surly  tone,  pushing  it  towards  him.  No  one 
took  pleasure  in  Frank's  pleasure,  no  one  rejoiced  in  his 
success,  that  was  impossible,  because  all  lost  by  what 
he  gained.  The  two  youngest  boys  looked  disconsolate, 
but  the  little  general  was  the  most  vexed ;  he  bit  his 


'  /"RANK. '  409 

nails,  and  stamped  about,  quite  in  a  passion,  declaring 
that  he  had  always  the  worst  luck  of  anybody  in  the 
whole  world:  and  yet  he  wanted  to  play  one  other 
game.  But  there  was  not  time ;  the  little  boys  had  not 
been  invited  to  stay  to  supper  this  night.  The  carriage, 
which  was  to  carry  them  home,  was  at  the  door  wait- 
ing, as  Spellman  had  twice  told  them ;  and  Granville 
himself  now  came  from  the  billiard-room  to  say  that 
they  must  not  keep  the  horses  waiting ;  off  they  must 
go,  all  but  the  officer's  son,  James ;  he  was  to  go  home 
with  his  father,  who  was  at  billiards,  and  not  yet  ready. 
The  boy  with  the  bad  countenance  said  to  Frank,  as  he 
passed  to  go  away,  "  Remember,  you  must  give  us  our 
revenge  to-morrow  night." 

"  Revenge  !"  said  Frank. 

"  Ay,  you  must  play  again,  to  be  sure,  to  give  us 
losers  a  chance  of  winning  back  our  own."  Before 
Frank  had  time  to  reply,  the  boy  turned  away  to  claim 
from  James  the  money  he  had  lent  him  for  his  last 
stake.  James  answered, "  we  can  settle  that  another 
time,"  and  he  put  his  silver  pencil-case  into  the  other 
boy's  hand,  adding,  "  take  that  for  the  present."  Frank 
did  not  hear  this,  nor  did  he  see  the  disturbed  counte- 
nance of  James,  for  he  was  intent  upon  far  other 
thoughts  of  his  own.  He  had  spread  his  treasure  on 
the  green  table,  and  counting  it,  and  portioning  it  out, 
was  settling  what  he  would  do  with  it.  "  With  this," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  I  can  buy  for  Mary  the  magnet 
which  she  wished  for,  and  with  this  a  knife,  such  as 
Lewis  wanted,  and  I  can  buy  a  pencil-case  for  myself." 

He  looked  up,  and  asked  the  little  general  the  price 
of  his  pencil-case.  James  answered  hastily,  "  I  do  not 
know — I  did  not  buy  it,  it  was  given  to  me."  Then  he 
began  to  spin  a  tetotum  which  lay  on  the  table ;  and  a 
sudden  thought  seeming  to  come  into  his  head,  he  took 
out  his  watch — a  small  one,  indeed,  but  it  was  a  real 
watch. 

Frank  looked  at  it,  and  obsen'ed  that  it  was  very 
pretty. 

"  Frank,"  said  James,  "did  you  ever  play  at  tetotum  V 

"Often,"  said  Frank,  "with  Mary,  when  she  was  « 
very  little  girl." 

"  Oh !  but  I  do  not  mean  child's  play — I  mean  men's 
play,  betting.  Look  at  this  T  on  the  tetotum,  that  T 
stands  for '  take  up  all.'  If  it  comes  up  first  to  you,  yott 
S  35 


410  PraJtk. 

win — if  first  to  me,  I  win.  Now,  we  will  play  for  thit 
watch,  if  you  please ;  I  will  stake  this  against  all  the 
money  you  have  won  there  on  the  table." 

Frank,  in  much  amazement,  looked  at  him  and  said, 
"  Would  you  run  the  chance  of  losing  your  watch — that 
nice  watch  V 

♦'  I  would,"  said  James,  "  because  I  think  I  shall  win 
this  time.     Come,  shall  I  spin  the  tetotum?" 

"Stay,"  said  Frank,  stopping  his  hand,  "I  do  not 
think  it  is  right." 

"  Right !  I  have  a  right  to  do  what  I  please  with  my 
own;  the  watch  is  mine.  But  you  are  afraid  to  hazard 
your  treasure  there." 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  "  I  am  not — I  would  rather  have 
the  watch  than  all  this,  or  twice  as  much.  So,  if  you 
think  it  is  not  wrong — " 

The  other  spun  the  tetotum  without  waiting  to  say  or 
to  hear  more.  He  spun  the  tetotum ;  but  the  T  for 
'  take  up  all,'  did  not  come  up  to  him — Frank  won. 

The  watch  was  put  into  his  hands.  He  was  glad — 
he  was  sorry — he  was  amazed.  His  feelings  were  like 
those  of  one  in  a  dream.  He  felt  some  one  touch  his 
shoulder,  and  looking  up,  he  saw  not  the  boy  with  whom 
he  had  been  playing :  he  was  gone,  but  Lewis  stood  be- 
fore him. 

*'  How  comes  this  here  V  said  Lewis,  taking  up  the 
watch.  "  Is  it  yours  ?  How  came  you  by  it  I  What 
have  you  been  doing  ?" 

He  pronounced  these  questions  rapidly,  and  the  anx- 
iety of  his  manner  so  alarmed  Frank  that  he  had  only 
power  to  answer — 

"  It  is  mine,  I've  won  it — I'm  afraid  I've  done  wrong 
—what  shall  I  do  f 

"  Won  it !  Have  you  been  gambling  1 — Return  it — 
return  it  as  fast  as  you  can,"  cried  Lewis. 

"  That  I  will,"  exclaimed  Frank,  starting  up,  "  but  he 
is  gone !" 

"  Who  do  you  meanl  James  1 — I  met  him  going  out 
as  I  came  in." 

"  Oh,  stop  him,  find  him  for  me,"  said  Frank. 

"  Come  with  me,  then,  and  bring  the  watch. 

They  both  went  in  search  of  James,  but  they  could 
not  find  him  anywhere,  yet  his  father's  carriage  was  at 
the  door.  What  could  have  become  of  him  unless  he 
had  gone  away  on  foot.    Frank  became  very  much 


FRANK.  411 

frightened.  Lewis  asked  all  the  servants  in  the  outer 
hall,  but  they  knew  nothing  of  him.  One,  however, 
thought  he  had  seen  him  pass  by  a  few  minutes  before. 
Lewis  ran  out,  guessing  that  he  might  have  got  into  his 
father's  carriage.  One  of  the  servants  would  have  fol- 
lowed to  open  the  carriage  door,  but  Lewis  forbade 
him,  saying,  they  would  rather  open  the  door  for  them- 
selves. Frank  followed;  the  blinds  were  up.  Lewis 
"went  round  to  the  side  that  was  farthest  from  the  hall 
door,  and  opened  the  carriage  v»^ithout  making  any 
noise.  James,  with  his  face  downwards,  and  stretched 
on  the  floor  of  the  carriage,  was  sobbing  violently :  he 
started  up,  and  cried,  "  Who  is  there  ?" — "  A  friend," 
answered  Lewis ;  "  Go  into  the  carriage,  Frank,  and  I'll 
wait  for  you." 

Frank  jumped  in,  and  without  speaking,  put  the  watch 
into  his  hands. 

"  What  do  you  mean  t"  said  James.  '" 

"  I  mean  to  give  it  back  to  you  again,"  said  Frank. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  1" 

"  Yes,  yes,  take  the  watch  out  of  my  hand,"  said 
Frank. 

James  took  it,  and  thanked  Frank  vehemently,  again 
and  again,  and  shook  his  hands,  repeating,  "you  have 
saved  me,  you  have  saved  me — you  can't  conceive  how 
miserable  I  was."  He  was  in  such  agitation  he  hardly 
knew  what  he  said  or  did.  The  carriage  door  was  open, 
and  by  the  moonlight  Frank  saw  his  face  plainly.  It 
was  quite  pale,  and-  smeared  with  tears.  James  kissed 
the  watch  several  times,  exclaiming,  "  My  dear  watch! 
my  dear,  dear  mother.  My  mother  gave  it  to  me,  and  I 
promised  her  never  to  part  with  it.  Oh  Frank  I  I  broke 
my  promise !  and  to  have  gone  home  to  her  without 
the  watch — Oh,  think  what  shame  it  would  have  been. 
How  lucky  I  was  to  lose  to  you  instead  of  to  any  of  the 
others,  they  would  never  have  given  it  back  to  me. 
Oh,  thank  you ! — thank  you,  generous  Frank.  Now  I 
am  resolved  I  will  never  get  myself  into  such  a  scrape 
again.     I  will  never  play  for  money  again." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  Frank ;  "  I  wish  you  would  take 
back  all  this  which  I  won.  I  cannot  bear  to  keep  it." 
Frank  emptied  his  pocket  of  all  that  he  had  won. 
"  Pray  do  give  it  back  to  them,  you  will  see  them  again, 
perhaps  I  shall  not.  I  shall  never  be  happy  till  they 
have  it  all  agaiu^ — 1  had  not  the  least  idea  how  misera- 
S3 


412  FRANK. 

ble  you  were.  How  very  unhappy  you  must  have  been 
when  you  lost  it,  and  when  you  recollected  that  you 
had  broken  your  promise  !     How  could  you  do  that?" 

James  looked  exceedingly  ashamed.  "  Oh,  Frank," 
said  he,  "  this  is  the  first  time  you  ever  gambled,  you 
don't  know  what  it  is ;  but  I  do — you  cannot  think  how 
it  leads  one  on  to  forget  every  thing.  What  noise  is 
that  in  the  halll — Is  my  father  coming?" 

"  No,  only  the  servants  passing  backwards  and  for- 
wards." 

"  See,"  said  James,  "  see  to  what  it  brings  me,  to  be 
ashamed  to  meet  my  own  father  and  mother.  But, 
good-night,  good-night,  Frank,"  continued  he ;  "  do  not 
say  a  word  to  anybody  about  the  watch,  for  they  would 
be  very  angry  if  they  knew  about  it.  Keep  my  secret, 
and  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  as  long  as  I  live.  Go, 
now,  my  dear  Frank,  do  not  let  my  father  find  you  here, 
or  he  will  wonder.     Only  don't  tell — promise  me  that." 

Frank  would  not  make  this  promise,  though  it  was 
difficult  and  painful  to  refuse  James  in  his  distress ;  he 
stopped  on  the  step  of  the  carriage,  and  said  steadily : — 

"  I  cannot  promise  you  not  to  tell  what  has  passed  to 
anybody;  my  friend  Lewis  knows  it  already;  and  I 
teli  my  father  and  mother  every  thing  about  myself 
whenever  I  think  I  have  done  wrong,  therefore  I  must 
tell  them  what  I  have  done  now,  for  I  think  I  did  very 
wrong ;  but  I  will  not  mention  your  name.  Will  this 
do?" 

James,  looking  again  very  much  ashamed,  paused, 
and  said,  "  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do." 

"  Take  my  advice,"  said  Frank ;  "  tell  the  whole  to 
your  father  and  mother." 

"  I  would,"  said  James,  "  but  that  I  am  afraid." 

"  Afraid !"  said  Frank.     "  You  a  general,  and  afraid  V 

The  general  changed  countenance,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment, exclaimed — 

"  I  am  determined  I  will  have  the  courage  to  tell  them 
the  whole  truth.  Go  in,  Frank,  and  tell  my  father, 
when  you  hear  them  ask  for  me,  that  I  am  sitting  in  the 
carriage  waiting  for  him,  and  that  1  have  something  to 
say  to  him.  Good-by ;  I  wish  I  had  always  had  such 
a  friend." 

This  night,  when  Frank  went  into  his  mother's  room, 
he  shut  Mary's  door,  for  all  this,  he  thought,  was  not 
proper  for  her  to  hear ;  and  he  then  told  his  mother  all 


FRANK.  413 

that  had  passed.  His  father  came  in,  and  listened  to 
him  while  he  was  speaking;  and  when  he  ended. by 
saying,  "  I  hope  you  will  not  ask  me  the  name  of  the 
boy  whose  watch  I  won,"  his  father  and  mother  assured 
him  they  would  not  ask  him  that,  or  any  question  which 
he  felt  bound  in  honour  not  to  answer,  and  his  mother 
rejoiced  to  see  that  he  had  entire  confidence  in  them. 

"  Now,  Frank,"  said  his  father,  "  young  as  you  are, 
you  have  seen  something  by  which  you  can  guess  at 
the  meanness  and  misery  to  which  a  gambler  may  be 
reduced.  Those  who  acquire  the  habit  of  gambling 
when  they  are  boys,  continue  it  when  they  grow  to  be 
men ;  and  to  this  terrible  passion  for  gaming,  they  sac- 
rifice every  thing  they  have  in  the  world — their  friends, 
their  family,  their  honour :  just  as  you  saw  that  boy 
break  his  word,  and  pledge  the  watch  which  he  had  prom- 
ised to  keep  for  ever.  I  am  glad  you  have  had  this  les- 
son early  in  life,  it  will  make  an  impression  upon  you ; 
and  now  you  have  another  opportunity  of  trying  your 
own  resolution ;  which  do  you  think  best,  you  are  a 
boy  of  sense,  and  I  leave  it  to  you  to  choose.  1  will 
either  take  you  home  to-morrow  morning,  or  stay  with 
you  here  to  the  end  of  the  time  I  had  proposed  to  re- 
main.    Will  you  go  home  or  stay  here  ]" 

Frank  answered  that  he  would  certainly  much  rather 
go  home ;  but  yet  he  chose  to  stay,  that  he  might  try 
his  own  power  of  withstanding-persuasion  and  ridicule. 

And  his  resolution  upon  this  subject  did  not  fail. 
The  next  night,  when  the  young  party  returned,  the 
boy  with  the  bad  countenance  tried  to  persuade  him  to 
play  again,  but  he  steadily  refused ;  and  this  was  the 
more  easy,  because  James  having  returned  to  each  of 
the  boys  the  money  which  Frank  had  won,  they  could 
not  suppose  that  he  refused  to  play  for  the  mere  fear  of 
losing  what  he  had  gained. 

He  kept  the  little  general's  secret  faithfully,  as  he 
had  promised  ;  all  that  he  heard  about  him  was,  that  his 
father  had  been  ordered  away  with  a  detachment  of  the 
regiment.  When  he  had  repaid  the  boys  their  money, 
he  had  charged  them  to  give  his  love  to  Frank,  and  to 
tell  him  he  had  taken  his  advice,  and  that  he  hoped  and 
believed  that  he  should  be  the  better  for  it  all  his  life. 
35* 


414  PKANK. 


•  Mr.  Berkeley,  the  curate  of  Bellombre,  was  an  ex- 
cellent, amiable  man ;  he  usually  came  every  morning 
to  read  an  hour  with  Horace  Granville,  who  loved  him, 
and  always  treated  him  with  the  greatest  respect.  But 
Messieurs  Power  and  Shaw  did  not  follow  this  good 
example.  When  Granville  was  not  by.  Power  some- 
times showed  his  vulgar  insolence  of  wealth,  and  Shaw 
played  off  his  impertinent  wit  against  this  reverend 
gentleman.  Power  viewed  with  scorn  the  rusty  black 
coat  which  was  worn  by  him,  who  gave  all  he  denied 
himself,  to  the  poor.  Shaw,  in  speaJcing  of  him,  some- 
times called  him  Parson  Adams,  and  Mr.  Primitive,  and 
was  very  angry  with  Frank  because  he  would  not  un- 
derstand who  he  meant,  except  when  he  called  Mr. 
Berkeley  by  his  proper  name,  nor  would  he  ever  join  in 
their  odious  merriment. 

One  Sunday,  Lord  Chepstow's  seat  at  church  was  so 
crowded  that  some  of  the  company  were  sent  to  a  pew 
underneath.  Power,  Shaw,  Lewis,  and  Frank,  were  of 
the  number.  Power  and  Shaw,  thinking  perhaps  that 
they  were  screened  from  observation,  talked  and  be- 
haved in  a  very  unbecoming  manner  during  the  service ; 
and  during  the  sermon  they  amused  themselves  with 
doing  all  that  they  could  to  distract  the  attention  of 
Frank  and  Lewis,  but  in  vain.  Frank  and  his  friend 
had  behaved  with  the. most  steady  propriety.  After 
church,  Shaw  ridiculed  them,  and  remarked  Frank's  face 
of  attention,  and  called  him  a  hypocritical  little  quiz; 
and  Power  added  as  much  wit  or  abuse  of  the  same 
kind  as  he  could  muster ;  but  Frank  was  sure  he  was 
right,  and  bore  it  quite  unmoved. 

After  church,  Frank's  mother  was  going  to  walk  to  the 
parsonage  with  Mrs.  Berkeley,  and  Mr.  Berkeley  asked 
Frank  and  Lewis  if  they  would  accompany  them ;  he 
said  he  would  show  them  his  garden,  as  they  were  fond 
of  gardening,  and  Mary  could  see  what  she  had  long 
wished  to  see — a  yellow  rose  in  flower. 

Power  and  Shaw  whispered  to  each  other,  and  deter- 
mined that  they,  though  uninvited,  would  be  of  the  party, 
for  Shaw  was  in  hopes  that  he  should  fine  something  to 
laugh  at  in  the  parsonage  and  its  inhabitants  ;  but  they 
could  find  nothing  to  ridicule  in  its  neat  content  and 
cheerfulness  ;  besides,  they  were  kept  in  awe  by  Gran- 
ville, who  came  in  soon  after  them,  and  before  whom 


FRANK.  415 

they  dared  not  venture  to  quiz  Mr.  Berkeley,  or  to  laugh 
at  any  thing  belonging  to  him. 

One  of  the  prints  in  Mrs.  Berkeley's  sitting-room 
caught  Frank's  attention  particularly ;  it  was  from  a 
picture  of  Wright — under  it  were  written  these  words: 

"  Miravan — A  young  nobleman  of  Jngria,  breaking  open 
the  tomb  of  his  ancestors  in  search  of  wealth  {incited  by 
this  equivocal  inscription — '  In  this  tomb  is  a  treasure  great- 
er than  Croesus  ever  possessed''),  found,  on  entering  it,  the 
following: — '■Here  dwells  repose. — Sacrilegious  wretch! 
searchest  thou  for  gold  among  the  dead  ?  Go,  son  of  ava- 
rice, thou  canst  not  enjoy  repose ."  "  ** 

Frank  called  Lewis  to  look  at  this  print,  aad  to  read 
what  was  written  beneath  it. 

Lewis  wondered  that  the  story  was  told  of  a  young 
nobleman  in  Jngria,  because  he  recollected,  in  the  first 
volume  of  Herodotus,  which  he  had  just  read  at  school, 
a  similar  story  told  of  Darius,  and  of  a  princess  who 
had  been  buried  over  one  of  the  gates  of  Babylon. 

Mrs.  Berkeley  took  down  the  Greek  Herodotus,  and 
gave  Frank  the  translation,  that  he  might  look  for  the 
story.  Frank  found  it,  and  eagerly  read  it  aloud,  happy 
to  do  honour  to  his  friend  Lewis.  Mr.  Berkeley  asked 
his  daughter  to  copy  the  print  for  Frank,  which  she 
kindly  promised ;  of  which  Frank  was  very  glad ;  but 
he  still  more  enjoyed  the  praises  of  his  friend,  whose 
excellent  memory  pleased  «l11  present — all  except  Shaw, 
who  could  not  bear  the  praise  of  any  talents  but  his  own. 
He  had  first  asserted  that  he  was  sure  there  was  no 
such  thing  in  Herodotus ;  looked  mortified  when  Frank 
found  it,  and  tried  to  comfort  himself  by  disparaging 
Herodotus,  who,  as  he  said,  was  known  to  be  the  father 
of  lies.  He  attacked  his  translator  too,  and  endeavour- 
ed to  fix  the  attention  of  the  company  by  his  own  supe- 
rior knowledge  of  Greek,  in  detecting  some  small  error; 
but  this  failing,  he  looked  excessively  mortified.  Frank 
observed  that  Power  seemed  more  interested  than  he 
had  ever  known  him  before  in  any  subject  of  literature. 
He  seemed  really  to  admire  Lewis,  and  Spellman  con- 
tinued to  question  him  in  various  parts  of  the  book, 
keeping  Mr.  Berkeley  in  admiration  of  his  memory,  till 
Shaw  at  last  took  up  his  hat  and  walked  off.  Then 
Power  laughed,  and  said  to  Granville,  "  We  have  fairly 
driven  Shaw  off  the  field ;  he  could  not  stand  our  praises 
of  Lewis  with  ail  his  wit ;  he  is  the  most  envious  crea- 


416  «iANK. 

ture  alive.  Think  of  his  envying  a  boy  so  much  younger 
than  himself!" 

Granville  made  no  answer  but  a  look  of  high  disdain. 
Frank,  who  did  not  know  the  feelings  of  envy,  was 
really  surprised,  and  could  scarcely  believe  it  possible. 
He  had  observed,  indeed,  that  Shaw  always  found  fault 
with  whatever  was  praised,  especially  with  an  excellent 
prize  poem  of  one  of  Lewis's  schoolfellows ;  but  this, 
Frank  had  attributed  to  a  party  spirit,  of  the  nature  of 
which  he  had  lately  acquired  some  knowledge.  He  had 
wondered  that  he  never  admired  any  of  the  periodical 
papers  written  by  his  own  schoolfellows,  which  he  had 
always  criticised  with  great  severity.  But  still  Frank, 
in  his  simplicity,  had  thought  that  this  must  arise  from 
Shaw's  superior  cleverness,  which  made  it  so  difficult 
to  please  his  taste  and  judgment.  At  first  he  could  not 
suspect  envy,  but  his  eyes  were  now  open  to  the  truth. 
Power,  with  brutal  mirth,  told  several  anecdotes  in  con- 
firmation of  the  truth,  and  said  he  would  lay  any  wager 
he  could  make  Shaw  envious  of  a  child  of  four  years 
old.  Frank,  instead  of  joining  in  his  mirth,  looked 
grave  and  astonished. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  he,  "  that  so  clever  a  boy  as 
Shaw  can  be  envious,  and  that  you,  who  are  his  friend, 
can  laugh  at  him  ?" 

"  Why  not,"  said  Power;  "does  not  he  laugh  at  me 
and  at  everybody  1  He  is  fair  game,  if  anybody  is,  and 
one  is  glad  to  have  a  shot  at  him." 

So  saying,  he  took  Spellman  by  the  arm,  who,  with 
his  acquiescing  "  very  true,"  walked  off. 

"  Lewis,  you  are  a  different  sort  of  friend,"  thought 
Frank.  Mr.  Berkeley,  as  if  he  had  read  his  thoughts, 
said, 

"  What  a  happiness  it  is  to  you  two  to  be  such  good 
friends.  This  will  last  not  only  through  your  school- 
days, but  through  life." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Frank  ;  "  only,  do  you  know,  sir, 
there  is  one  great  misfortune,  we  cannot  go  to  the  same 
school!" 

"  That  is  a  misfortune,  for  which  I  pity  you,"  said 
Mr.  Berkeley;  "but,  to  whatever  school  you  go,  your 
friendship  will  continue,  and  wherever  you  are  you  will 
make  friends,  if  you  preserve  this  kind,  generous  tem- 
per, untainted  with  envy." 

"  Jfr  repeated  Frank,  and hestood  silent.    "  Surely," 


PRANK.  417 

thought  he,  "  it  is  impossible  that  I  could  ever  become 
envious." 

The  rest  of  the  company  now  began  to  talk  on  differ- 
ent subjects.  Some  gathered  round  a  table  to  look  at 
Miss  Berkeley's  beautiful  drawings.  Many  went  to  a 
hortus  siccus,  a  collection  of  dried  plants.  Lewis  to  a 
mineralogical  cabinet;  but  Frank,  more  interested  in 
what  his  father  and  Mr.  Berkeley  were  saying  than  in 
flowers  or  stones,  followed  them  to  a  window,  where 
they  were  talking  apart. 

He  asked  if  he  might  listen  to  what  they  were  saying; 
his  father  nodded  assent,  and  went  on,  eagerly  speaking 
of  the  difference  between  emulation  and  envy.  Emula- 
tion being  a  generous  desire  to  raise  ourselves  in  excel- 
lence ;  envy,  a  base  wish  to  lower  others. 

Mr.  Berkeley  admitted  the  possibiUty  of  keeping 
these  distinct.  "  Certainly,  in  careful  private  educa- 
tion," he  said,  "  this  could  be  done  effectually." 

He  opened  a  volume  of  Cowper's  Poems,  and  pointed 
to  some  hnes,  which  Frank  read  along  with  his  father. 

These  describe  emulation  as  a  compound 

^  ,  ."Of envy,  hatred,  jealousy,  and  pride." 

and  give  a  terrible  picture  of  the  spirit  of  competition 
among  schoolboys. 

/'  Each  vainly  magnifies  his  own  success, 

Resents  his  fellow's,  wishes  it  were  less ; 

Exults  in  his  miscarriage  if  he  fail. 

Deems  his  reward  too  great  if  he  prevail ; 

And  labours  to  surpass  him  day  and  night, 

Less  for  improvement  than  to  tickle  spite.  ;. 

The  spur  is  powerful,  and  I  grant  its  force ; 

It  pricks  the  genius  forward  in  its  course, 

Allows  short  time  for  play,  and  none  for  sloth ; 

And  felt  alike  by  each,  advances  both  ; 

But  judge,  where  so  much  evil  intervenes, 
.    The  end,  though  plausible,  not  worth  the  means. 

Weigh  for  a  moment  classical  desert, 

Against  a  heart  depraved,  and  temper  hurt ; 

Hurt  too,  perhaps  for  life  ;  for  early  wrong 

Done  to  the  nobler  part,  affects  it  long." 

As  he  finished  these  lines,  Frank  sighed. 

*'  Do  not  be  afraid,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Berkley,  smi- 
ling ;  and,  laying  his  hand  on  Frank's  head,  added, "  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  never  become  envious." 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  of  that  ? — or  how  can  I  be  sure 
S3 


418  FRANK. 

of  it  V  said  Frank ;  "  for,  if  it  happens  to  others  when 
they  go*  to  school,  why  should  it  not  happen  to  me  ?" 

His  father  answered  "  that  he  had  been  at  a  public 
school  himself— that  he  had  felt  emulation  strongly; 
and  that  he  could  answer  for  it  that  envy  is  not  the 
necessary  consequence  of  school  competitions ;  he  had 
been  excelled  by  many,  but  he  never  recollected  having 
felt  envious  of  his  successful  rivals,  nor,"  added  he, 
"  did  my  winning  many  a  prize  from  my  friend  Birch 
ever  diminish  his  friendship  for  me." 

Granville  and  Cressingham  were  passing  by  at  this 
moment,  and  Frank's  father  appealed  to  them,  and  ask- 
ed their  opinion.  They  supported  his  evidence  with 
their  own ;  said,  that  they  thought  they  had  seen  more 
envy  and  jealousy  between  boys  bred  at  home  than 
among  those  at  school ;  because  at  home,  the  applause 
and  affection  of  the  father  and  mother  became  part  of 
the  reward,  and  the  boy  who  does  not  succeed  in  schol- 
arship, is  then  more  mortified  than  he  could  be  by  losing 
any  school-prize :  but,  they  agreed,  that  much  in  either 
case  depended  upon  the  impartiahty  of  the  parents,  and 
the  justice  of  the  schoolmaster. 

Frank  was  of  opinion  that  parents  could  not  be  par- 
tial— as  to  schoolmasters,  he  did  not  know,  but  he  was 
willing  to  believe,  that  they  could  be  sometimes  unjust, 
and  perhaps  often  mistaken.  But  the  general  argu- 
ment, however,  did  not  interest  him  so  much  as  his  own 
particular  case  ;  he  hoped  that  he  might  feel  like  his  fa- 
ther, or  like  Colonel  Birch,  or  like  any  of  those  gener- 
ous boys  who  had  been  free  from  envy ;  but  he  wanted 
to  know  how  he  could  make  sure  of  this. 

Granville  walked  off,  saying,  that  a  boy  who  was  not 
naturally  base,  he  supposed,  was  not  likely  to  become 
envious. 

Frank  blushed  at  his  own  doubts  o.  himself;  but  his 
father  and  Mr.  Berkeley  told  him  that  he  need  not  be 
ashamed  of  them ;  that  these  doubts  would  probably 
prove  his  best  security,  as  they  would  make  him  watch- 
ful over  his  own  mind.  "  But,"  added  Mr.  Berkeley, 
"  there  can  be  little  dependance  upon  good  feelings, 
unless  supported  both  by  good  habits  and  good  prin- 
ciples." 

"  Principles !"  said  Power,  as  he  came  up  behind 
Frank  and  heard  the  last  words. 

"  They  are  at  principles,  and  such  fudge  still,"  whis- 
pered  he  to  Spellman. 


'  FRANK.  419 

*•  Remember,  it  is  Sunday,"  said  Spellman,  with  a  sort 
of  double  face  and  tone,  which  was  meant  to  appear  re- 
spectful to  Mr.  Berkeley,  and  which  Power  was  to  un- 
derstand as  mockery :  "  you  forget  it  is  Sunday." 

"  Sunday  or  not,  I  hope  there  is  no  harm  in  going  to 
the  stables,  so  come  off — with  Mr.  Berkeley's  leave,  we 
will  go  and  lake  a  peep  at  his  stud." 

"I  have  no  stud,  young  gentlemen,"  replied  Mr. 
Berkeley,  mildly.  "  I  have  only  one  horse,  and  he  is 
not  at  all  worth  your  seeing." 

"  We  shall  see  that,"  said  Power,  and  with  an  inso- 
lent nod  he  left  the  room,  followed  by  Spellman,  with  a 
mock-respectful  bow,  which  it  was  very  well  for  him 
that  Granville  did  not  see. 

Mr.  Berkeley,  quite  unmoved,  resumed  what  he  had 
been  saying. 

"  My  dear  young  friend,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  call 
you  so — "  I 

♦'  I  will,  sir,"  said  Frank,  eagerly,  '*  thank  you." 

"  A  boy  accustomed,  as  you  have  been,  to  appeal  to 
his  own  conscience,  without  looking  always  to  the 
praise  of  others,  or  to  the  opinion  of  by-standers,  will  be 
well  enough  satisfied  with  himself  when  he  is  sure  that 
he  is  right  in  essential  things.  Mere  learning,  or  any 
attainment,  or  any  talent,  as  you  know,  are  far  inferior 
in  value  to  honourable,  generous  feelings  and  conduct. 
Even  if  you  should  meet  with  an  unjust  schoolmaster, 
or  should  fail  in  school  competitions,  the  conciousness 
in  your  own  mind  of  being  free  from  all  envy,  will  sup- 
port you  under  that  mortification  ;  besides,  I  am  sure, 
that  you  would  have  too  much  spirit  to  give  up ;  and 
you  would  know  that  if  you  did  not  succeed  in  one  in- 
stance, you  might  do  so  some  time  or  other ;  and  this 
hope  will  secure  you  from  envy.  It  bo"  been  well  ob- 
served by  those  who  know  human  nati*-  ^  oest,  that  peo- 
ple of  strong  minds  are  never  envious ;  weak  minds  only 
are  subject  to  that  unhappy  infirmity." 

Frank  thanked  Mr.  Berkeley,  and  felt  particularly 
gratified  by  his  manner  of  speaking  to  him. 

In  support  of  the  truth  of  what  P'rank's  father  had  as- 
serted, '*  That  under  judicious  guidance,  strong  emula- 
tion may  be  excited  in  young  minds  without  any  mix- 
ture of  envy,  Mr.  Berkeley  related  an  anecdote  which 
had  fallen  under  his  own  observation,  in  a  school  in  his 
neighbourhood.    At  this  school,  the  sons  of  several 


420  FRANK. 

wealthy  farmers,  and  of  the  poorer  class  of  peasants, 
received  instruction  together. 

It  happened  that  the  sons  of  a  rich  farmer  and  of  a 
poor  widow  came  in  competition  for  the  monitorship 
of  their  class ;  they  were  so  nearly  equal  that  the  mas- 
ter could  scarcely  decide  between  them :  some  days 
one,  some  days  the  other,  gained  the  head  of  the  class. 
It  was  to  be  determined  by  seeing  who  should  be  at  the 
head  of  the  class  for  the  greater  number  of  days  in  the 
week. 

The  widow's  son,  by  the  last  day's  answer,  gained  the 
victory,  and  maintained  his  place  the  ensuing  week,  till 
the  school  was  dismissed  for  the  holydays. 

When  they  met  again,  however,  he  did  not  appear, 
and  the  farmer's  son  being  next  in  excellence,  might 
now  have  been  at  the  head  of  his  class  ;  but  instead  of 
seizing  that  vacant  place  which  had  devolved  to  him  by 
the  nonappearance  of  his  rival,  he  went  to  the  widow's 
house  to  inquire  what  could  be  the  cause  of  her  son's 
absence.  Poverty  was  the  cause :  she  found  that  she 
was  not  able,  with  her  utmost  endeavours,  to  continue  to 
pay  for  his  schooling,  and  for  the  necessary  books  ;  and 
the  poor  boy  had  returned  to  day  labour,  as  it  was  his 
duty,  for  her  support.  The  farmer's  son,  out  of  the  al- 
lowance of  pocket-money  which  his  father  gave  him, 
and  without  letting  anybody  but  the  widow  and  her  son 
know  what  he  did,  bought  all  the  necessary  books,  and 
paid  for  the  schooling  of  his  rival,  and  brought  him  back 
again  to  the  head  of  his  class,  where  he  continued  to  be 
monitor  for  a  considerable  time,  at  the  expense  of  his 
generous  rival. 

Frank  clapped  his  hands  at  hearing  this  story.  Mary 
came  up  to  ask  what  pleased  him  so  much,  and  he  re- 
peated it  to  her  with  delight. 

On  taking  leave  of  Mr.  Berkeley,  tliey  were  sorry  to 
hear  that  he  was  going  away  for  several  days,  to  visit 
some  distant  parts  of  his  parish,  and  ha  was  not  sure  that 
he  should  return  before  tney  were  to  leave  Bellombre. 


"  So,  master !"  said  Shaw,  stopping  opposite  to  Frank 
one  evening,  and  setting  his  haiul  on  his  hip,  contem- 
plating him  as  he  was  standing  alone,  while  the  other 
Uttle  boys  were  playing  at  cards — "  So,  Master  Frank, 


FRAN«.  421 

you  seem  to  be  left  out  of  every  thing  that  is  going  on 
there." 

"  I  was  not  left  out,  I  took  myself  out,"  said  Frank. 

"  Took  yourself  out — very  good — but  you  look  mighty 
like  a  person  sent  to  Coventry,^''  said  Shaw.  "  Do  you, 
in  your  simplicity,  know  what  is  meant  by  being  sent  tp 
Coventry,  pray  T"  i 

"  Yes,"  said  Frank,  "  you  see  I  do." 
•0,;*'  And  how  do  you  like  it,  my  lad  V  said  Shaw. 
.;.  •  "  I  do  not  like  it,  but  I  can  bear  it,"  said  Frank  ;  "  one 
roust  bear  many  disagreeable  things,  and  disagreeable 
people  too." 

Shaw  passed  on,  took  his  hand  off  his  hip,  and  rubbed 
it  over  his  mouth,  as  was  his  custom  when  he  had  no 
pun  ready,  or  when  he  was  discomfited. 

Frank  had  observed,  that  at  the  same  time  every 
evening  Lewis  always  disappeared,  and  reappeared 
about  an  hour  afterward.  Frank  had  often  thought  of 
going  to  see  what  he  was  about,  but  something  or  other 
had  always  put  it  out  of  his  head.  But  now  that  his 
declining  popularity  left  him  leisure  to  think  more  of 
his  friend,  he  went  in  search  of  Lewis,  whom  he  found 
in  his  room,  quietly  writing. 

jr,  "  What,  letters !  letters  for  ever !"  cried  Frank. 
; ;  "  Not  at  letter-writing,  but  at  letters.  Belles-lettres^ 
said  Lewis;  "I  must  learn  to  pun  from  Shaw.     I  am 
getting  on  with  my  theme :  you  know  I  have  no  time  to 
lose." 

"  I  see  you  lose  no  time,"  said  Frank.  "  What !  you 
have  chosen  Epaminondas.  My  dear  Lewis,  how  ca« 
you  go  on  here  just  as  if  you  were  at  home  V 

"  Why  not  V  said  Lewis ;  "  nothing  disturbs  me  here, 
in  my  own  room,  you  know." 

"  And  yesterday,  I  saw  you  reading  in  the  room  witli 
us  all,  when  there  was  such  a  noise  I  did  not  know  that 
•  two  and  two  made  four,"  said  Frank.  "  I  do  not  think 
I  could  have  said  my  alphabet.  I  could  not  have  attend- 
ed to  the  most  entertaining  book  in  the  world,  in  that 
buzz  of  voices,  and  din  of  billiards." 

"  Oh,  we  are  used  at  school  to  read,  and  write,  and 
get  our  lessons,  in  a  much  greater  din,"  said  Lewis ;  ♦'  so 
it  is  easy  to  do  the  same  anywhere ;  that  is  one  great  a(J- 
vantage  in  having  been  at  school." 

"  Shall  I  ever  be  able  to  do  so  1"  said  Frank. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will ;  necessity  is  a  hard  master,  but 
36 


422  phank 

you  are  sure  to  learn  from  him,  as  my  master  said,  who, 
by-the-by,  is  not  a  hard  master." 

"  1  wish  he  was  to  be  mine,"  said  Frank. 

'•He  would  tell  you  to  say,  *  I  wish  he  were  to  be 
mine,' "  said  Lewis,  laughing, '  for  he  is  very  exact  about 
the  subjunctive  mood,  and  I  am  sure  would  not  let  a 
fault  pass  even  in  a  compliment  to  himself." 

"  So  exact !  and  yet  you  seem  to  love  him." 

"I  do ;  some  people  say  that  no  boy  ever  loved  the 
man  who  taught  him  Latin,  but  that  1  deny,"  said  Lewis. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Frank,  "  for  I  lOve  my  father,  and  yet 
he  taught  me  Latin.  But  how  Shaw  would  quiz  and 
laugh  at  us,  if  he  heard  what  we  are  saying  this  minute," 
said  Frank,  looking  as  if  he  was  a  little  afraid  that  the 
walls  should  hear. 

"  The  walls  have  not  ears,"  said  Lewis ;  "  and  if  they 
had,  and  if  Shaw  were  to  laugh  at  us,  what  matter  V 

"  I  should  not  mind  it  mitcA,"  said  Frank  ;  "  but,"  con- 
tinued he,  returning  to  what  Lewis  was  writing,  "  is  it 
possible  that  you  have  done  all  this  ?  How  could  you  do 
it  in  so  little  time  1  I  scarcely  ever  missed  you  out  of  the 
room.     How  long  were  you  at  it  every  day  V 

"  Just  one  hour  every  day,"  said  Lewis,  "  and  at  a 
time  when  nobody  wanted  me,  nobody  missed  me,  you 
see ;  perhaps  I  lost  some  of  the  diversion  below  stairs ; 
but  without  doing  this,  I  could  not  have  finished  my 
theme,  so  I  am  content." 

"  Shall  I  ever  do  as  much,  do  you  think  T'  said  Frank. 

"  That  you  will.  Consider  how  much  older  I  am  than 
you,  Frank;  I  am  growing  quite  an  old  man." 

"  So  you  are,  really,"  said  Frank. 

"  Now  I  am  come  to  the  delightful  word  finish  said 
Lewis, "  and  very  glad  I  am  ;  I  worked  hard,  that  I  might 
have  the  few  days  afterward  for  you  and  Mary,  when 
we  go  home." 

"  How  very  well  thought  of,  and  how  kind,"  said 
Frank;  "but  you  know  how  to  be  kind,  and  you  think 
of  every  thing,  though  one  would  not  guess  it,  because 
you  never  look  solemn."  He  now  seized  upon  Epam- 
inondas,  sat  down,  and  said  he  would  read  it  before  he 
stirred  ;  but  Lewis,  though  he  was  very  anxious  to  know 
what  he  would  think  of  it,  would  not  let  him  stay ;  he 
took  the  MS.  out  of  his  hand,  and  went  down  stairs 
with  him. 

If  any  young  or  old  author  should  ever  chance  to  read 


FRANK.  428 

this,  he  will  feel,  perhaps,  that  there  was  some  difficulty 
in  the  sacrifice,  and  will  pronounce  Lewis  to  be  a  good 
friend. 

They  went  to  the  billiard-room,  where  the  young  peo- 
ple were  assembled.  Granville,  Cressingham,  Shaw, 
and  Power,  were  at  the  table,  which  they  had  to  them- 
selves, all  the  elders  being  at  this  time,  happily  or  un- 
happily, engaged  in  talking  politics. 

Frank  Uked  very  much  to  see  billiards  played.  This 
is  more  a  game  of  skill  and  address  than  of  chance ; 
and  his  father,  whose  advice  he  had  asked,  had  no  ob- 
jection to  billiards ;  on  the  contrary,  he  liked  them 
much  as  excellent  exercise,  good  trial  of  the  eye  and 
hand,  and  pleasant  amusement,  provided  that  they  be  not 
played  for  money,  or  turned  to  gambling  by  betting  on  the 
players.  Shaw  and  Power  had  desired  to  play  for 
money,  but  to  this  Granville  would  not  consent;  he 
had  refused  to  play  if  they  betted  on  his  head.  This 
was  the  more  extraordinary,  Shaw  observed,  because 
Granville  played  better  than  anybody. 

"  The  more  honourable,  you  mean,  not  the  more  ex- 
traordinary, I  hope,"  said  Cressingham  ;  "  he  does  not 
want  to  win  all  Power's  money,  which  he  could  easily 
do,  you  know,  if  he  let  himself  be  provoked  to  bet." 

Power  said  something  about  his  not  valuing  money, 
and  not  valuing  those  who  were  so  mighty  careful  of 
their  own  or  other  people's. 

Granville  said  that  Mr.  Power  might  do  what  he 
pleased  anywhere  else,  he  did  not  pretend  to  have  any 
right  to  control  him ;  but  that,  for  his  own  part,  he  would 
not  let  his  father's  billiard- table  be  turned  into  a  gaming- 
table. 

This,  which  was  pronounced  not  only  proudly,  but 
steadily,  put  a  stop  to  all  further  discussion ;  and,  to 
Frank's  great  satisfaction,  it  was  settled  that  there 
should  be  no  bets.  They  went  on  playing  for  nothing, 
a  phrase  perhaps  invented  by  those  who  think  money 
every  thing,  and  who  forget  that  playing  for  health  and 
amusement  may  be  considered  as  playing  for  some- 
thing. Frank  now  stood  beside  Granville,  whose  ad- 
dress he  watched  with  great  eagerness,  observing  the 
care  with  which  he  aimed,  and  the  skill  with  which 
he  struck  the  ball,  to  make  it  go  to  whatever  point  he 
desired.  Frank's  eye  followed  his  ball  constantly,  and 
be  wished  that  it  should  always  succeed.    This  sym- 


5^  FRANk. 

pathy  and  wish  for  his  success  were  evidently  agreea- 
ble to  Granville,  who  twice  said,  "  Thank  you,  Frank !" 
and  once  stopped  to  let  him  have  a  stroke  at  the  ball 
himself,  putting  the  cue  into  Frank's  hand,  and  guiding 
him  in  his  first  aim. 

"  I  never  saw  Mr.  Granville  half  so  fond  of  anybody, 
I  mean  of  any  boy  of  his  age,  before,"  observed  Spell- 
man,  in  a  tone  intended  to  be  flattering,  but  which,  at 
the  same  time,  betrayed  that  he  was,  for  his  own  part, 
a  little  mortified.  Well  might  he  be  mortified,  for  all  the 
exaggerated  praise  that  he  continually  bestowed  on 
Granville's  " wonderful  fine  play!"  never  made  Gran- 
ville turn  his  head,  or  move  a  muscle  of  his  countenance ; 
''  and  yet  he  certainly  must  hear  what  Spellman  is  say- 
ing," thought  Frank :  "  I  wonder  he  lets  him  flatter  in  this 
way."  Granville,  though  ashamed  before  others  to  ap- 
pear to  accept  this  adulation,  yet  from  a  mixture  of  habit 
and  belief  in  Spellman's  being  attached  to  him,  and  from 
weakness,  suff"ered  him  to  go  on.  Frank  could  not  en- 
dure it ;  he  went  as  far  from  him  as  he  could,  to  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  table,  and  forgot  to  mark,  and  was  so 
absent  that  at  last  Granville  called  to  him  to  mind  his 
business,  and  reached  across  and  gave  him  a  little  tap 
on  the  head  with  his  cue.  Frank  started,  and  drew  his 
head  from  under  the  stick ;  he  did  not  like  it,  because 
he  had  seen  the  same  thing  done  to  Spellman.  How- 
ever, he  obeyed  directly,  marked  twice  for  Granville, 
and  begged  pardon  for  his  carelessness. 

"What  could  you  be  thinking  oiV  said  Spellman. 
•'  Pray  do  tell  us,  what  were  you  thinking  of?" 

"  I  would  rather  not  tell  you,"  said  Frank. 

"  Oh,  you  must  tell  us !"  cried  Power,  seizing  hold  of 
him  in  his  rough  manner. 

Frank  repeated  "  that  he  would  rather  not,  that  he 
would  not  tell  him  ;"  and  at  last  added,  "  that  Mr.  Power 
had  no  right  to  force  his  thoughts  from  him." 

"  True,"  said  Granville,  in  his  deciding  voice.  "  Let 
the  boy  alone,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Power ;  he  is  under 
my  protection." 

"  Happy  for  him,"  said  Spellman. 

*'  Very  likely,"  said  Shaw,  "  yet  he  does  not  look  re- 
markably happy  at  this  moment.  Did  you  see  how  he 
rubbed  his  head  when  Granville  gave  him  that  little  rap 
just  now  1  A  delicate  fag  he  will  make." 

"  He  must  be  deUcate,  indeed,  and  more  dehcate  than 


I 


FRANK.  426 

1  have  any  idea  of,  if  he  did  not  like  that"  said  Spell- 
man.     "  Is  it  possible,  Frank,  that  you  did  not  like  that  V 

Frank  acknowledged  that  he  did  not.  Spellman  re- 
peated his  astonishment,  and  Granville  coolly  looked  at 
Frank  for  explanation- 
Frank  did  not  attempt  to  give  any,  and  Granville  went 
on  playing  without  noticing  him  more.  "  You  will  never 
do  at  school,  little  gentleman,  I  can  tell  you,  if  you  are 
not  good-humoured,"  said  Cressingham. 

"  Never,"  said  Granville. 

"  Good-humoured,"  cried  Lewis ;  "  you  will  find  Frank 
one  of  the  best  humoured  boys  you  ever  saw." 

Granville  looked  at  him,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Who 
asked  your  opinion?"  and  still  went  on  playing.  He 
lost  the  game,  and  Spellman  was  again  very  much  sur- 
prised, and  questioned  whether  Lewis,  who  was  the 
marker  on  the  opposite  side,  had  marked  rightly.  Frank 
was  quite  sure  that  Lewis  had  marked  rightly,  for  he 
said  he  had  seen  him. 

"  How  is  this,  Frank  \  I  thought  you  were  on  my  side," 
said  Granville. 

"  So  I  was,  and  so  I  am,"  said  Frank. 

"  Then  why  do  you  speak  on  the  other  side  V  said 
Spellman. 

"  I  speak  the  truth,"  said  Frank,  "  without  consider- 
ing about  sides." 

"  Very  right,  my  little  fellow,"  said  Cressingham. 

"  But  that  will  never  do  in  this  world,  or  at  school," 
said  Shaw. 

Frank  said  he  was  sorry  for  it. 

"  Do  not  beheve  it,"  said  Cressingham ;  "  the  truth 
will  do  at  school  and  everywhere  else,  if  you  speak  it 
properly." 

"  Pray  see  if  I  have  cast  this  up  right,"  said  Spellman, 
turning  to  Frank.  "  Look,  I  noted  down  here  the  num- 
ber of  games  at  billiards,  which  everybody  won  this 
week  past,  and  see  what  a  prodigious  number  Mr.  Gran- 
ville won.  It  is  quite  surprising,  is  not  it  1  Am  not  I 
right  1" 

No,  there  was  an  error  in  the  casting  up,  which  Frank 
corrected.  "  There  should  be  a  nine  in  place  of  this 
naught,"  said  he. 

"  Frank  is  right,"  said  Granville,  going  over  the  sum. 
"Thank  you,  Spellman.  But,  Frank,  you  should  not 
call  it  naught,  you  should  say  aught,"  .. 

30* 


4^ 


FRANK. 


This  Cressingham  doubted.  It  was  said,  with  wha/ 
truth  we  know  not,  that  all  Cambridge  scholars  call  the 
cipher  aught,  and  all  Oxford  scholars  call  it  naught. 
Shaw  was  intended  for  Oxford,  Granville  for  Cambridge, 
and  a  dispute  concerning  aughts  and  naughts  arose  be- 
tween them.  They  neither  of  them  produced  any  deci- 
sive arguments,  and  both  began  to  grow  warm.  Frank 
ran  for  Johnson's  great  dictionary,  and  looked  for  the 
two  words  in  dispute,  and  he  found  that  aught  is  there 
explained  to  mean  any  thing,  and  naught,  nothing;  so 
that  he  was  inclined  to  think  he  should  call  the  cipher, 
which  means  nothing,  naught.  But  he  did  not  this  time' 
speak  till  he  was  asked ;  when  Granville  turned  to  him 
and  asked  what  Johnson  decided;  Frank  read  it,  and 
Granville  looked  vexed,  and  said  people  were  not  obliged 
to  submit  to  Johnson  always. 

Spellman  had  been  going  on  the  whole  time  saying, 
"  Granville's  for  aughts,  I  am  for  aughts — who  is  for 
aughts  1     What,  Frank !  you  against  Granville  V 

*'  Yes,"  Frank  acknowledged ;  and  this  time  he  spoke 
very  modestly,  though  steadily,  that  as  far  as  he  had 
heard  and  as  far  as  he  could  judge,  he  was  for  naughts. 

"  You,  sir,  are  for  naughts  too,  I  think,  are  not  you  1" 
said  Granville,  looking  haughtily  towards  Lewis.  Lewis 
said  he  was. 

Sbf^w  and  Power  were  impatient  to  go  on  playing  at 
billiaras,  and  there  the  matter  dropped  for  the  present ; 
but  this  slight  difference  about  aughts  and  naughts  had 
put  Granville  out  of  temper. 

Spellman  now  perceiving  that  Granville  was  not  pleas- 
ed with  Lewis,  took  every  little  opportunity  he  could  find 
of  saying  something  taunting  against  him,  his  school,  and' 
his  schoolmaster.  As  there  was  no  other  boy  present 
who  was  of  the  same  school,  Lewis  had  to  defend  him- 
self alone,  which  he  did  with  great  spirit  and  good-hu- 
mour, till  Spellman  vanquished,  told  him  that  one  of 
the  Miss  Granvilles  was  waiting  for  him  to  play  at  chess, 
and  Lewis  left  the  billiard-table.  As  soon  as  he  was 
gone,  Spellman  confessed  he  did  not  like  him  much ;  it 
might  be  his  fault,  but  he  could  not  like  him.  *'  Why  ?" 
asked  Frank.  To  this  he  answered  that  he  could  not 
tell  what  it  was  he  did  not  like,  but  really  he  could  not- 
like  him.  If  that  was  all,  Frank  did  not  care.  Spell- 
man, however,  proceeded  to  attack  him  for  being  too' 
good   rather  ouizz'*^ — not  like  other  t)eople.    Frank' 


PRANK.  427 

defended  his  friend  with  all  his  might.  Shaw  and  Power, 
partly  to  provoke  him,  and  partly  for  diversion,  joined 
Spellman  in  ridiculing  Lewis ;  and  Frank,  far  from  giv- 
ing way,  became  more  zealous  and  eloquent.  So  eager 
was  he  in  this  cause,  that  he  forgot  every  now  and  then 
his  duty  of  marker  for  Granville ;  Cressingham,  how- 
ever, noted  whatever  he  omitted,  and  Granville  never 
called  upon  Frank,  or  seemed  to  notice  his  omissions, 
but  proudly  continued  playing  and  naming  his  own  hits, 
without  taking  any  part  either  in  attack  or  defence. 

When  the  game  ended,  Frank  left  half  finished  some 
sentence  in  praise  of  Lewis,  and  ran  to  his  post  to  tell 
how  much  Granville  had  won. 

"  Pray  go  back  and  finish  your  sentence,"  said  Gran- 
ville, putting  him  aside  ;  "  we  can  do  without  you." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Frank,  "  but  I  was  fighting 
for  Lewis." 

"  Lewis  is  obliged  to  you,"  said  Granville. 

"And  I  am  sure  you  will  not  be  angry  with  him," 
said  Cressingham,  "  for  defending  his  friend  behind  his 
back." 

"Angry!  who  is  angry?"  said  Granville.  He  laid 
down  his  cue,  and  began  to  twirl  a  billiard-ball  round 
and  round  in  silence.  Shaw  and  Power  now  fell  into 
a  conversation  about  blacking  for  boots. 

"  But,"  said  Spellman,  pursuing  Frank,  and  speaking 
so  that  he  was  sure  Granville  heard  what  he  was  saying, 
"  do  tell  me,  would  you  really  rather  go  to  Lewis's 
school  than  with  Mr.  Granville  ]" 

"  To  be  sure  I  would,"  cried  Frank. 

"  That  to  be  sure,  and  the  emphasis  upon  it,  is  not  over 
and  above  civil,"  said  Spellman,  "  in  my  humble  opin- 
ion; nor,  after  all,  over  and  above  grateful." 

"  If  it  is  uncivil,  I  am  sorry  for  it ;  I  did  not  mean 
to  be  uncivil,"  said  Frank,  looking  towards  Granville, 
whose  face  he  could  not  see,  but  he  saw  the  deep  crim- 
son colour  of  his  ears.  "  Mr.  Granville  has  been  very 
kind  to  me  ever  since  I  came  here,  and  I  am  sure  I  am 
very  much  obliged  to  him." 

"  Spellman,  do  let  the  boy  alone.  I  cannot  bear  to 
have  thanks  forced  from  people,"  said  Granville,  look- 
ing up  for  a  moment,  and  then  spinning  his  billiard-ball 
with  increased  energy. 

*'  He  did  not  force  my  thanks  from  me.    I  hope,  sir,'* 


■428  FRANK. 

said  Frank,  laying  his  hand  upon  Granville's  arm, "  that 
you  don't  think  me  ungrateful  1" 

"  I  do  not  think  about  it,"  said  Granville,  slightly 
shaking  off  his  hand. 

"  Surely  you  believe  me  to  be  sincere  1"  said  Frank, 
in  a  very  melancholy  tone. 

"  Only  a  little  too  sincere,"  said  Cressingham. 

*'  Too  sincere,  that's  impossible,  surely,"  said  Spell- 
man. 

"  How  could  I  do  otherwise,"  said  Frank,  appealing 
alternately  to  Cressingham  and  to  Mr.  Granville. 
•'  When  Mr.  Spellman  asked  me  the  direct  question,  of 
which  1  would  rather  go  with,  I  could  not  answer  him 
any  thing  but  the  plain  truth." 

"  Who  blames  you  ?"  said  Granville.  "  Not  I,  I  am 
sure." 

"  No  :  but  I  was  afraid  you  were  angry  with  me,  and 
you  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  should  be  exceed- 
ingly sorry  to  displease  you,"  said  Frank,  again  putting 
his  hand  upon  Granville's  arm ;  and  this  time  Granville 
did  not  shake  it  off. 

"  Ah,  I  do  not  wonder,"  said  Spellman,  "  that  you  are 
anxious  not  to  displease  him.  When  you  go  to  school, 
you  would  be  in  a  fine  way  indeed  without  his  protec- 
tion!" 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  his  protection — I  do  not  want 
that,"  said  Frank,  indignantly,  with  an  emphasis  ex- 
1^.  jsive  of  the  contempt  which  he  felt  for  Spellman's 
meanness.  "  I  do  not  want  his  protection,"  repeated 
he. 

"  Then  you  shall  not  have  it,"  said  Granville,  think- 
ing, in  the  confusion  of  his  anger,  that  the  contempt 
was  thrown  upon  his  protection.  "  Henceforward  you 
shall  not  have  it;"  and  he  walked  away,  followed  offi- 
ciously by  Spellman.  Frank  stood  looking  after  him, 
at  a  loss  what  to  do  next ;  and  he  laid  his  head  down 
upon  his  hands  on  the  billiard-table,  to  try  to  think. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Cressingham,  Who  stood  beside 
him. 

"  But  I  must  mind,"  said  Frank ;  "  for  he  has  been 
very  kind  to  me." 

"  And  he  will  be  so  again ;  never  mind,  he  will  come 
to  himself  again.  In  the  meantime  take  my  advice- 
whatever  happens  to  you  never  complain." 

"  That,  I  should  scorn  to  do  "  said  Frank. 


■FRANK.  429 

"  You  have  a  great  deal  of  spirit,  and  I  like  you  the 
better  for  it.  But  mind  you  keep  your  temper,  ray  little 
lad ;  it  may  be  tried,  but  do  not  give  any  hasty  answers. 
Do  not  fly  off  from  Granville." 

"  I  fly  off !  I  have  no  intention  of  flying  off,  I  am 
sure,"  said  Frank. 

"  Well,  well ;  but  what  I  mean  is,  you  must  bear  a 
little  injustice  now  and  then." 

"Must  I?"  said  Frank;  "that's  very  hard;  I  have 
never  been  used  to  it." 

"  Hard  or  soft,  it  must  be  in  this  world,  as  you  will 
find.  Pray,  is  it  quite  settled  that  you  go  to  school 
with  us  ?" 

"  Quite,  quite  settled,"  said  Frank. 
"  Then  1  like  you  the  better  for  defending  your  friend 
Lewis  as  you  did." 

Spellman  here  returned  to  say  that  Granville  was 
asking  for  Cressingham,  to  settle  about  to-morrow's 
ride.  Cressingham  went  away  with  Spellman,  but 
turned  back  to  say,  in  a  low  voice  to  Frank, 

"  Take  care  you  do  not  go  and  repeat  to  Lewis  any 
of  the  things  that  were  said  against  him." 

"  I  will  not — indeed  I  should  never  have  thought  of 
it,"  said  Frank.  "  But  thank  you,  I  wUl  follow  all  your 
good  advice." 

The  next  day,  from  Granville's  morning  face,  Frank 
could  not  guess  whether  he  was  pleased  or  displeased ; 
but  he  certainly  was  not  familiar  or  kind  to  him  as  for- 
merly. Spellman  was  more  flattering  even  than  usual, 
and  seemingly  in  high  favour.  He  asked  permission 
for  some  of  his  relations,  an  aunt  and  a  cousin  of  his,  to 
see  Bellombre  this  morning.  It  was  permitted  to  stran- 
gers to  walk  in  the  grounds  two  days  in  the  week,  but 
this  was  not  one  of  them  ;  however,  Granville  obtained 
permission  for  Spellman's  friends,  and  Spellman  would 
not  be  of  the  riding-party ;  he  would  stay  at  home,  to 
show  the  beauties  of  Bellombre  to  his  relations — this 
was  such  a  delight  to  him,  as  he  said.  In  all  this  there 
was  one,  and  but  one  thmg  that  interested  Frank ;  he 
was  glad  that  the  flatterer  was  not  to  be  of  their  riding- 
party.  A  very  pleasant  morning,  and  a  delightful  ride 
it  was  expected  to  be  through  the  glen  to  the  race- 
ground,  wiiere  there  were  to  be  races,  which  Frank  was 
particularly  curious  to  see.  But  when  the  saddle-horses 
were  brought  to  the  door,  and  when  the  boys  and  gen- 


430  FRANK. 

tlemen  all  began  to  mount,  Frank  was  panic  struck ;  he 
saw  and  said,  "  he  feared  there  were  not  horses  enough 
for  ail." 

"  Enough  for  you,  as  usual,"  said  Granville,  beckon- 
ing to  his  father's  groom  to  bring  forward  the  pony 
which  Frank  had  usually  ridden ;  but  there  was  no  horse 
for  Lewis. 

"  Now,"  thought  Frank,  "  as  Spellman  stays  at  home, 
there  is  his  horse  surely  for  Lewis." 

"  Well,  up  with  you,  what  are  you  fumbling  about !" 
said  Shaw. 

Lewis,  who  knew  what  passed  in  his  mind,  came 
behind  him  and  whispered,  ''  Do  not  say  any  thing ;  go 
without  me,  pray." 

The  groom  fancying,  from  the  earnestness  with  which 
Frank  had  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  horse,  that  there  was 
something  in  his  opinion  wrong  about  stirrup  or  girths, 
altered  them,  and  Granville  dryly  said, 

"  Come,  all's  right  now ;  up  with  you,  Frank,  if  you 
please." 

But  Frank  did  not  please.  "Thank  you,  sir,"  said 
he,  "  but  I  would  rather  not  go." 

"  Please  yourself,"  said  Granville,  "  only  be  sure  you 
do  so." 

Frank  repeated,  in  a  very  gentle  voice,  but  quite  stead- 
ily, that  he  would  rather  stay  at  home. 

"  Take  this  horse  back  to  the  stable,"  was  all  that 
Granville  said ;  and,  mounting  his  own  horse,  he  coolly 
gave  some  directions  to  Spellman  about  sending  one  of 
his  dogs  after  him,  and  rode  off  without  looking  again 
at  Frank.  When  they  were  thus  left,  Lewis  was  be- 
ginning to  say  that  he  was  very  sorry,  but  Frank  put 
his  hand  before  Lewis's  mouth,  and  stopped  the  word. 
"  Do  not  say  sorry,  for  I  am  glad ;  we  shall  be  very 
happy  together,  and  if  Granville's  angry  for  nothing,  I 
can't  help  it.  Come  up  with  me  to  your  room  now,  and 
give  me  your  Epaminondas." 

The  manuscript  was  produced,  and  Frank  rolled  a 
large,  huge  arm-chair  to  the  table,  and  established  him- 
self in  it,  leaning  on  his  elbows,  frowning  and  looking 
as  he  said  he  fancied  great  critics  always  look,  when 
they  a/e  reviewing.  He  made  the  author  read  his  theme. 
His  young  brow  unbending  as  he  listened,  he  forgot  to 
play  the  critic's  part,  and  satisfied  the  author  with  what 


FRANK.  431 

alone,  it  is  said,  can  satisfy  an  author,  "  large  draughts 
of  unqualified  praise." 

"  Now,  was  not  I  right,  Lewis,"  said  Frank,  "  to  stop 
the  word  sorry  from  coming  out  of  your  mouth  ?  I  am 
sure  I  have  been  happier  this  morning  than  any  morn- 
ing since  1  came  to  Bellombre." 

■I  -^''^i  I    .  t  ■, •,  -j.,..r   „,,(•( 

Between  sense  and  nonsense,  talking  and  laughing, 
the  hours  passed  so  quickly  that  they  could  hardly  be- 
lieve that  it  was  luncheon-time,  when  a  servant  came  to 
summon  them  down  stairs. 

Fraiik  and  Lewis  had  made  themselves  general  fa- 
vourites, by  their  attentive,  polite  manners,  and  by  their 
being  always  able  to  employ  themselves,  so  that  they 
were  never  burdensome  to  others,  especially  to  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  as  idle  schoolboys,  in  the  holy- 
days,  always  are.  The  ladies  invited  them  to  accom- 
pany them  in  a  walk  which  they  were  going  to  take  in 
the  park,  and  Frank  was  delighted  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  a  walk  in  company  with  his  mother  and  Mary  too. 
But  as  Mary  was  walking  in  form,  with  a  Miss  Gran- 
ville on  each  side  of  her,  and  as  his  mother  w^as  listen- 
ing or  talking  to  Lady  Chepstow,  there  appeared  little 
hope  of  her  ever  listening  or  talking  to  him.  Frank 
soon  grew  tired  of  keeping  in  a  line  with  them,  or  of 
marching  in  file  through  narrow  passes  of  the  shrubbe- 
ries. 

"  Come,  Lewis,  let  us  go  on  before,"  said  Frank. 

They  went  on,  but  in  the  midst  of  a  lively  conversa- 
tion Frank  stopped  short. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  What  stops  you  1"  said  Lewis. 

"  Don't  you  see  those  people  who  are  going  round  the 
Temple  of  Fame  V  said  Frank. 

"  Only  Spellman's  party,  to  whom  he  was  to  show  the 
lions,"  said  Lewis.  "  You  know  what  showing  the 
lions  means  now  ]" 

Frank  made  no  answer,  but  kept  his  eyes  fixed  till  the 
people,  who  were  on  the  farthest  side  of  the  temple, 
again  became  visible. 

"  It  is  Tom !  Tom  and  his  mother !"  exclaimed  Frank ; 
"  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken,  but  1  am  very  sorry 
I  am  right." 

Lady  Chepstow  and  the  sober  walkers  having  by  this 


432  FRANK. 

time  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  saw  Spellman's  party, 
and  her  ladyship  turned  into  another  path  to  avoid 
them. 

"  We  must  give  up  the  Temple  of  Fame  for  this  mor- 
ning," said  she,  "  and  take  the  lower  walk.  It  is  a  ter- 
rible thing  to  have  a  show-place,  where  one  is  always 
exposed  to  meeting  people." 

They  took  the  lower  walk,  and  Frank  hoped  that 
they  should  never  meet  Tom  and  his  foolish  mother 
again. 

That  hope  was  vain.  It  was  not  Lady  Chepstow's 
fault ;  she  left  them  free  course  and  time  to  depart,  but 
after  pursuing  the  lower  walk,  and  leaving  the  upper  to 
Spellman  and  his  party,  and  after  making  the  grand  tour 
of  the  park,  she  was  compelled  to  meet  them  again  at 
the  lower  gate,  where,  at  the  joining  of  the  paths,  full 
they  stood  before  her.     How  they  had  managed  to  walk 

so  slow  was  inconceivable,  but  so  it  was.     Mrs.  J 

came  forward,  and  was  surprised  and  delighted,  and  de- 
lighted and  surprised,  to  see  Frank  and  his  mother ;  and 
her  Tom  was  so  charmed  too,  she  was  sure,  to  see  his 
friend  Frank ;  he  could  not  speak,  of  course,  but  tuck- 
ing his  whip  under  his  arm,  he  gave  Frank  such  a  shake 
of  the  hands  that  Mary  shrunk  for  him. 

Why  he  is  so  overjoyed  to  see  me  I  do  not  know, 
thought  Frank,  withdrawing  his  squeezed  hand;  but  I 
am  sorry  to  see  him,  though  I  am  afraid  this  is  illna- 
tured.  I  wonder  he  does  not  ask  for  FeUx.  "  You  will 
be  glad  to  hear,  Tom,  that  Fehx  is  quite  well  again," 
said  he. 

"  Lord !  so  I  suppose  he  is  by  this ;  he  has  had  time 
plenty.     How  long  do  you  stop  here  V 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Frank ;  "  I  suppose  till  your 
mother  has  done  talking." 

"  But  1  ask  you  how  long  you  are  to  be  at  Bellombre  1" 

"  Some  days,  I  believe." 

"  And  do  you  go  to  school  ?  And  when,  and  where  V 
And  a  number  of  other  questions  Tom  abruptly  asked, 
for  now  he  seemed  determined  to  talk  to  Frank,  and  he 
would  have  seized  upon  his  arm,  but  that  Frank  re- 
treated between  the  two  Miss  Granvilles,  whom  Tom 
dared  not  approach.  Lady  Chepstow  had  been  obhged, 
as  Frank  heard  her  say  in  a  low  voice  to  the  governess, 
to  ask  them  in  to  rest  and  take  some  refreshments,  as 
they  seemed  friends  of — 


There  her  ladyship's  voice  was  lost.  "  Of  ours  per- 
haps," said  Frank  to  himself.     "  What  a  mistake  !" 

Spellman  kept  up  the  mistake,  however,  by  rejoicing 

as  he  did  to  find  that  his  aunt  (for  Mrs.  J was  hia 

aunt),  and  Tom  (for  Tom  was  his  cousin),  were  so  weU. 
acquainted  with  Frank  and  his  mother ;  and  it  was  so 
lucky  that  they  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  at  Bel- 
lombre. 

With  Mrs.  J and  her  Tom  was  her  sister,  a  trav- 
elled ladv.  fresh  from  Italy,  but  who  by  her  travels  had 
only  added  new  affectation  to  old  vulgarity.  In  the 
course  of  half  an  hour,  while  they  rested  themselves 
and  took  some  refreshments.  Lady  Chepstow  perceived 
her  mistake,  saw  that  Tom  was  no  friend  of  Prank's, 
and  that  Mrs.  J was  no  favourite  of  his  mother's.. 

Notwithstanding   Mrs.  J 's   admiration  of  every 

thing  she  saw  at  Bellombre,  and  her  travelled  sister's  de- 
sire to  see  the  cascade  again,  which  had  so  much  put 
her  in  mind  of  the  Acquapendente,  that  fine  fall  of  water  in 

Italy,  on  which  she  had  doted ;  and  though  Mrs.  J de-^ 

clared  that  she  had  actually  bought  a  place  in  the  neigh-' 
bourhood  of  Bellombre,  and  was  quite  determined  to 
settle  there.  Lady  Chepstow  showed  no  further  dispo- 
sition to  cultivate  their  acquaintance.  When  their  stay 
had  been  protracted  to  its  utmost  decent  length,  Spell- 
man  was  quietly  suffered  to  ring  the  bell  for  their  car- 
riage ;  but  as  they  were  departing,  he  asked  and  obtain- 
ed permission  for  them  to  see  the  Italian  pictures  in  the 
great  drawing-room,  and  he  extended  that  permission 
to  showing  them  the  whole  house.  As  sooft  as  they 
had  left  the  room,  Lady  Chepstow  observed  that  Spell- 
man  was  an  excellent  creature,  but  that  really  he  had  a 
sad  horde  of  vulgar  relations,  with  whom  they  must  not 
be  overrun. 

One  of  the  Miss  Granvilles  sat  with  Mary  near  the 
window,  and  from  time  to  time  looked  out  at  the  car- 
riage, which  waited  long  at  the  door,  "  Here's  Horace 
and  the  gentlemen  come  back  from  their  ride,"  said 
Miss  Granville, 

"  Now  Mrs.  J is  getting  into  her  carriage,"  said 

Mary.  A  minute  afterward  Miss  Granville  came  to  her 
mother,  and  said  in  French,  ^ 

"  Mamma,  my  brother  is  bringing  back  that  boy."        i 

*'  Oh,  my  dear,  impossible !  he  would  not  be  so  bar- 
barous either  to  me  or  the  boy." 
T  37 


434  raANK. 

•  "^  "  But  I  assure  you,  ma'am,  I  saw  Spellman  say  some- 
thing to  Horace,  and  he  touched  the  boy  on  the  back 
with  his  whip  as  he  was  getting  up  into  the  barouche- 
seat,  and  took  him  down.  There,  the  carriage  has  driv- 
en off,  and  without  him !" 

So  Frank  and  Mary  saw  to  their  sorrow. 

Horace  came  in,  and  whispered  to  his  mother  some 
thinj  ending  with,  "  Spellman  did  so  wish  it,"  to  which 
she  replieti, 

"  You  can  refuse  Spellman  nothing,  that  is  the  truth, 
my  dear  Horace ;  but  really  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,  for 
Spellman  is  the  most  attached  creature,  and  has  ever 
been  so  from  his  cradle." 

"Tom  will  sleep  in  Spellman's  room,  ma'am,  and 
shall  be  no  trouble  to  you,"  said  Granville. 

"  The  boy  will  be  miserable  here,  I  am  sure ;  but  that 
is  his  affair  and  yours,  my  dear  Horace." 

Miserable  and  miserably  awkward  Tom  looked  when 
he  reappeared  in  the  drawing-room  during  the  trying 
five  minutes  before  dinner.  He  stuck  close  to  his  cousin 
Spellman's  pocket,  but  Spellman  forcibly  took  the  be- 
loved whip  from  his  hands ;  and, bereft  of  that,  Tom  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  his  hands;  and  first  one 
clinched,  as  if  he  was  going  to  box  with  it,  stopped  his 
mouth  needlessly ;  and  when  that  hand  was  pulled  down 
by  fidgety  Spellman,  Tom  took  to  buttoning  and  unbut- 
toning one  and  the  same  button  of  his  waistcoat  con- 
tinually. Frank  recollected  his  own  trick  of  buttoning 
and  unbuttoning  the  sleeve  of  his  coat  when  he  was  a 
child,  and  was  glad  he  had  cured  himself  of  it.  Now 
good-naturedly  pitying  Tom,  he  once  thought  of  speak- 
ing to  him ;  but  he  guessed  from  what  he  had  seen  that 
this  would  only  increase  his  embarrassment,  or  expose 
him  to  the  danger  of  giving  some  gruff,  brutal  answer. 

Lad}'  Chepstow,  who,  as  she  said  afterward,  was 
really  curious  to  hear  the  sound  of  Tom's  voice,  asked 
if  he  had  been  amused  with  the  pictures,  to  which  he 
answered,  "  I  don't  know." 

Spellman,  very  judiciously,  hauled  him  off  into  the 
antechamber,  to  look  at  some  picture  which  he  had  not 
seen,  and  which  he  was  sure  Tom  must  like. 

When  they  were  going  to  dinner.  Lady  Chepstow 
said  to  her  son,  as  her  eye  glanced  at  Tom,  "  That 
young  gentleman  is  under  your  protection." 
"  And  he  shall  have  it,"  said  Horace,  taking  Tom  by 


PRANK.  435 

ttie  hand,  and  as  he  passed  by  Frank,  he  added,  "  unless 
he  disdains  it." 

At  dinner  Tom  was  placed  on  one  side  of  Mr.  Gran- 
ville, and  Frank  took  his  usual  seat  on  the  other  side. 
All  dinner-time  the  conversation,  unhappily  for  Franks 
turned  upon  the  joys  of  the  races,  which  he  had  not 
seen.  Tom  could  take  some  part  in  what  was  said;  for 
though  he  had  not  been  at  the  race  to-day,  he  had  seen 
races  in  his  life  often.  Squire  Rogers  had  taken  him  to 
the  races  last  week ;  and  with  this  superiority  over 
Frank,  and  with  the  assistance  of  some,  we  dare  not 
say  how  many,  glasses  of  wine,  he  got  over  his  bash- 
fulness  famously.  He  talked  of  horses,  he  thought, 
almost  as  well  as  anybody. 

Frank  did  not  hear  all  that  was  said ;  he  only  heard 
now  and  then,  at  the  beginning  and  end  of  every  sen- 
tence, the  word  horse — "  Your  horse,"  "  my  horse," 
"  his  horse."" 

Fond  as  Frank  was  of  horses,  he  might  have  been  a 
little  tired  during  this  dinner  by  hearing  of  nothing  else. 

But,  in  fact,  Frank  was  thinking  chiefly  of  Granville's 
altered  manner  towards  him.  Frank  had  been  in  hopes 
that  his  displeasure,  of  which  he  did  not  clearly  know 
the  cause,  would  have  worn  off,  but  it  seemed  to  be 
coldly  fixed.  Frank,  who  was  quite  unused  to  a  capri- 
cious or  a  jealous  temper,  who  had  never  before  seen 
the  eye  of  kindness  alter  towards  him,  except  in  conse- 
quence of  some  fault  of  his  own,  now  not  only  felt  im- 
happy,  but  feared  that  he  must  have  been  to  blame. 
This  was  what  he  was  considering,  when  Tom,  much 
elevated  by  the  notice  which  had  been  taken  of  him, 
turned  to  him  at  the  time  of  the  desert,  and  said,  in  an 
insulting  tone, 

"  You  do  not  eat,  man — ^you  don't  drink,  man — you 
don't  speak,  man;  you  seem  to  be  quite  down  at  the 
month.^ 

"Come,  we  must  get  up  your  spirits  again,"  said 
Spellman,  immediately  offering  to  fill  his  glass ;  Frank 
drew  it  back,  thanked  him,  but  refused  ;  adding,  that  his 
spirits  could  do  without  wine. 

"  The  English  of  which  is,  I  suppose,"  said  Shaw, 
"  that  he  is  not  allowed  to  drink  wine." 

"  True,"  whispered  Spellman,  loud  enough  for  Frank 
to  hear ;  "  Tom  tells  nie  he  is  kept  as  tight  as  a  drum  at 
home." 

T2 


436  FRANK. 

"  Not  true !"  cried  Frank,  indignantly,  "  as  you  know, 
Tom," — Cressingham  gave  him  a  look  that  reminded 
him  of  his  resolution  to  keep  his  temper,  whatever  hap- 
pened, and  Frank,  restraining  his  indignation,  stopped 
short. 

"  It  is  not  very  honourable  to  listen  to  whispers  in 
company,"  said  Spellman. 

"  I  did  not  listen,  Mr.  Spellman,"  replied  Frank,  in  a 
carefully  calm  voice,  "  but  you  whispered  so  loudly 
that  I  could  not  help  hearing  you." 

"  Little  pitchers,  as  mamma  always  says,  have  long 
ears,"  said  Tom,  laughing  at  this  great  effort  of  wit. 

"  Little  pitcher,"  said  Shaw,  addressing  Frank,  "  you 
look,  methinks,  as  if  you  w  ere  too  hot  to  hold." 

"  He  only  wants  to  be  seasoned,"  said  Cressingham, 
"  and  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  will  stand  the  season- 
ing." 

"  That  is  to  be  proved,"  said  Power.  "  Here  is  to 
you,  cool  Captain  Drinkwater  !" 

"  Captain  Drinkwater's,  cool  Captain  Drinkwater's 
good  health !"  Power,  and  Shaw,  and  Spellman,  Tom 
and  all,  insultingly  drank. 

Frank  took  this  with  the  utmost  good-humour,  but  he 
was  sorry  that  Granville  did  not,  as  formerly,  say  to 
Spellman,  "  Let  the  boy  do  as  he  pleases ;"  or  to  Shaw 
and  Power,  "  Let  him  alone,  if  you  please." 

Tom,  feeling  himself  backed  and  encouraged  by  others, 
and  having  an  old  envy  of  Frank,  pursued  his  polite  mode 
of  questioning.  "  After  all,  pray  why,  Frank,  were  not 
you  at  the  races  this  morning  with  the  others  1" 

Before  Frank  could  answer,  Shaw  answered  for  him — 

"  Because,  as  I  understand,  he  quarrelled  with  his 
bread  and  butter." 

"  No,"  said  Spellman,  "  only  because  he  did  not  know 
on  which  side  his  bread  was  buttered." 

"  You  have  not  hit  it  yet,"  said  Cressingham,  "  and 
no  wonder :  it  was  a  cause  you  would  never  think  of, 
Spellman." 

Spellman  looked  curious. 

"  Simply  because  he  would  not  desert  a  friend  when 
out  of  favour,"  said  Cressingham. 

Granville  coloured,  and  casting  his  eyes  down  upon 
Frank,  who  was  looking  up  anxiously  in  his  face,  moved 
9.  dish  of  cherries  towards  him. 

*'  Po  you  wish  for  cherries?" 


frank:  437 

** No,  tliank you,  sir."         f^>  vis-.:!!     •<   f,'iir,v,   r;^'^ 

There  was  a  tremulous  sound  in  Prank's  voice,  which 
touched  Granville  ;  but,  turning  abruptly  to  the  other  side, 
he  heaped  Tom's  plate  with  cherries,  which  Tom  began 
to  devour,  saying,  "  More  fool  you !" 

Granville,  disgusted  with  Tom,  turned  back  to  Frank, 
but  felt  a  bashful  difficulty  in  recovering  from  his  fit  of 
illhumour.  On  one  side,  he  was  ashamed  that  his 
friend  should  see  his  injustice ;  on  the  other,  that  his 
flatterer  should  think  he  gave  up  his  dignity.  He  had 
said  to  Spellman  in  private  that  he  would  make  Frank 
feel  the  difference  between  having  and  not  having  his 
protection.  From  this  resolution  he  fancied  that  he 
could  not  recede.  His  countenance,  which  had  relaxed, 
again  grew  rigid ;  he  turned  away  from  Frank,  and  sunk 
into  haughty  silence. 

Frank  sighed  once,  but  sighed  no  more.  The  ladies 
at  last  rose  to  leave  the  room,  and  Tom,  rising  with  a 
cherry  in  his  hand,  and  another  in  his  mouth,  swallowed 
hastily  and  exclaimed,  "  I  swallowed  a  stone  !  I  don't 
know  what  other  folk  think,  but  I  think  cherries  should 
have  no  stones." 

When  Frank  followed  the  ladies  into  the  drawing- 
room,  he  saw  Mary  and  the  Miss  Granvilles  in  a  recess 
at  the  farthest  end  of  the  room,  with  Mademoiselle  de 
Cambrai,  their  governess. 

Coffee  came,  and  Frank  and  Lewis  stood  with  the 
ladies,  who  were  drinking  coffee,  but  Frank's  eyes 
turned  anxiously  towards  the  young  party. 

"  They  are  capping  verses,  I  believe,"  said  Lady 
Chepstow.  "  Young  gentlemen,  would  you  like  to  join 
them  ?" 

"  Like  it !  oh  yes."  Frank  and  Lewis  thanked  her 
ladysliip,  and  joined  them  instantly. 

"  Quick  as  the  needle  to  the  magnet !"  said  Lady 
Chepstow — "  not  of  the  repellent  class  of  schoolboy 
savages."  Her  ladyship  walked  to  the  recess,  stood 
for  some  minutes  listening  to  what  was  going  on,  and 
observed  that  Miss  Mary  was  quite  expert,  and  seemed 
to  know  a  great  deal  of  poetry.  No,  Mary  knew  very 
few  verses,  the  Miss  Granville's  knew  a  great  many 
more. 

Mademoiselle  de  Cambrai  remarked  that  it  was  not 
always  those  who  know  the  greatest  number,  but  those 
who  could  recollect  most  quickly,  who  in  this  trial  of 
37* 


438  FRANK. 

skill  would  be  likely  to  conquer.  Lady  Chepstow, 
taking  a  rose  from  her  bosom,  put  it  into  Mademoiselle 
de  Carabrai's  hand,  to  be  given  to  the  conqueror,  who- 
ever she  or  he  might  be.  The  contest  went  on  briskly 
for  one  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  in  due  time  letters  grew 
scarce.  Some  people  were  put  to  their  ;>'s  and  y's, 
some  were  in  straits  for  r's,  some  for  c's  ;  but  at  last, 
unexpectedly,  all  were  non-phis'd  for  a  d.  Such  an 
easy  letter! — Everybody  thought  they  had  hundreds, 
yet  could  produce  none  to  save  their  lives,  till  Frank,  at 
the  last  gasp,  cried — 

"  Die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain." 

All  the  Miss  Granvilles  exclaimed  that  they  were  angry 
with  themselves  for  not  having  recollected  this  common, 
easy  line.  It  was  like  Columbus's  egg,  and  a  hundred 
others,  provokingly  easy  when  found  out.  When  the 
victor  rose  was  presented  to  Frank,  he  doubted  whether 
he  fairly  deserved  it ;  for  he  acknowledged  that  he  had 
never  read  the  line,  and  did  not  even  know  where  it 
came  from  ;  he  had  only  picked  it  up  that  morning,  from 
having  heard  Mademoiselle  de  Cambrai  repeat  it:  he 
added,  that  he  believed  it  had  been  fixed  in  his  mem- 
ory by  his  surprise,  on  hearing  a  French  lady  pronounce 
English  so  well. 

The  gentlemen  came  into  the  drawing-room  soon 
afterward ;  Lady  Chepstow  said  something  to  Frank's 
father,  with  which  he  seemed  pleased,  and  Mary  thought 
it  was  about  Frank.  Her  ladyship  beckoned  to  her 
son,  and  seemed  to  repeat  the  same  thing,  ending  with 
the  words,  "  so  intelligent,  and  so  well  mannered." 
Mary,  observing  that  Mr.  Granville  turned  coldly  away, 
then  thought,  that  his  mother  could  not  have  been 
speaking  of  Frank.  She  next  saw  Spellman  and  Tom 
come  in  after  the  gentlemen.  Tom  regularly  grew 
sulky  the  moment  he  came  among  girls  or  women. 
Mademoiselle  de  Cambrai  not  knowing  this  particularity, 
and  seeing  a  young  stranger  looking  forlorn,  thought  it 
civil  to  speak  to  him.  But,  unluckily,  she  took  it  for 
granted  that  he  had  heard  what  everybody  was  talking 
of;  she  therefore  asked  Tom  if  he  ever  capped  verses. 
Tom  first  looked  angry  at  being  spoken  to,  then  upon 
the  question  being  repeated,  replied — 

"  I  don't  know." 

Mademoiselle  took  the  trouble  to  explain  what  she 


FRANK.  439 

now  imagined  he  had  never  heard  of  before  ;  and  Tom 
at  last  said, 

"  As  if  I  didn't  know  all  that ! — But  I  cap  Latin — only- 
girls  cap  English." 

Mademoiselle,  thus  repulsed,  retreated. 

Lady  Chepstow's  eye  fell  upon  Tom's  vulgar  figure, 
as  he  stood  moving  from  leg  to  leg ;  and  Spellman  car- 
ried him  off  to  a  distance.  Lady  Chepstow  then  turn- 
ing to  her  son,  who  stood  by  her,  said,  "  I  wish  people 
would  teach  their  children  to  speak  and  to  stand,  be- 
fore one  is  expected  to  bear  them." 

"  It  is  only  for  a  day  or  two,  madam,"  said  her  son, 
'*  and  for  me." 

"  For  Spellman,  you  mean,  my  dear  Horace :  any 
thing  for  you ;  but  Spellman  must  not  ask  this  again. 
Really  your  sisters  are  not  used  to  see  at  Bellombre 
such  an  uncommonly  vulgar  object." 

"  Half  of  it  is  bashfuhiess,  ma'am,  for  which  you 
make  no  allowance." 

"  And  for  which,  no  wonder,  you  make  too  much,  my 
dear  Horace ;  but,  thank  Heaven,  there  is  some  differ- 
ence between  plebeian  and  aristocratic  mauvaise  honte.^* 

With  this  thanksgiving.  Lady  Chepstow  walked  away. 
Her  excessive  severity  against  faults  of  manner  in  Tom, 
and  her  exaggerated  encomium  on  what  deserved  but 
slight  praise  in  Frank,  confirmed  her  son  in  his  obsti- 
nate wish  to  see  the  one  abased,  and  to  raise  the  other 
by  his  protection.  He  knew  that  Shaw  was  prepared  to 
quiz  Frank,  and  in  the  noble  art  of  quizzing,  Shaw  was, 
for  his  age,  a  distinguished  proficient.  There  was  one 
point  on  which  Frank,  in  common  with  most  boys  who 
had  been  bred  at  home,  and  happy  at  home,  are  uncom- 
monly tender,  and  apt  to  lay  themselves  open  to  ridicule. 
He  was  disposed  to  think  that  what  he  had  seen  or 
done  in  his  own  family  was  better  than  what  could  be 
seen  or  done  anywhere  else.  Lewis  had  warned  him 
not  to  talk  of  home  at  Bellombre,  and  Frank  thought 
he  had  been  particularly  guarded  on  this  subject,  but  it 
was  a  topic  to  which  he  involuntarily  recurred.  He 
was  at  this  instant  talking  away  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Cambrai,  who  had  won  his  confidence,  and  who  was 
questioning  him,  with  sincere  interest,  concerning  all 
he  did  at  home.  Shaw  posted  himself  beside  her,  and 
listened  with  a  mock  interest,  by  which  Frank,  unused 
to  irony,  or  what  is  called  persiflage,  was  deceived. 


440  PRANK. 

When  Mademoiselle  de  Cambrai  rose  to  retire  with 
the  young  ladies,  the  eldest  Miss  Granville  was  per 
mitted  to  stay,  to  play  at  chess  with  Lewis — a  favour 
which  excited  no  small  envy.  Frank  and  his  friend 
were  one  in  the  opinion  of  this  little  public,  and  he 
shared  the  stroke  of  envy.  Shaw  carried  him  off  to 
the  billiard-room  ;  but  there  was  to  be  no  billiards  this 
night,  for  Power  had  cut  his  thumb.  GranviUe  took  up 
a  book,  Cressingham  did  the  same  ;  and  Shaw,  appa- 
rently in  a  most  good-natured  manner,  went  on  talking 
to  Frank,  whom  he  said  he  had  never  known  really 
well  till  now. 

"  So  I  find,"'  continued  he,  "  that  this  Tom  was  quite 
wrong  in  telling  us  you  were  kept  as  tight  as  a  drum  at 
home — what  were  you  saying  to  Mademoiselle  de  Cam- 
brai ■?  Do  tell  me  more  of  your  ways  of  going  on  in 
your  own  family." 

This  was  to  Frank  an  irresistible  temptation.  Shaw 
led  him  on  from  one  thing  to  another,  while  Power  and 
Tom  joined  them  to  listen.  Frank  believed  that  Shaw 
was  really  as  much  interested  as  he  pretended  to  be ; 
and  he  went  on  for  some  time  without  suspicion,  till  at 
last,  when  he  stopped  to  take  breath,  Shaw,  in  a  voice 
which  he  now  perceived  to  be  the  tone  of  mockery, 
began  to  sum  up  all  he  had  heard  for  the  derision  of  the 
by-standers. 

"  So,"  said  he,  "  let  me  count  how  many  trades  you 
are  to  have  :"  he  counted  them  upon  his  fingers  :  "  you 
are  to  be  a  cobbler,  and  a  carpenter,  and  a  turner,  and  a 
tanner,  a  basket-maker,  and  a  bricklayer,  a  surveyor,  an 
astronomer  royal,  and  a  tallow-chandler." 

"  Jack  of  all  trades,  and  master  of  none,"  said  Power. 

"  You  are  to  learn  Virgil  from  your  gardener,  and 
spinning  from  darling  Mrs.  Wheeler;  and  what  are  you 
to  learn  from  the  other  charming  old  woman,  dear  Mrs. 
Catharine  V 

"  Boxing,  I  suppose,"  said  Tom,  bursting  into  a  horse 
laugh. 

"  The  most  useful  of  all,"  said  Power,  "  the  only 
useful  thing  he  has  learnt  for  school." 

"  How  can  you  say  soV  cried  Shaw,  in  his  ironical 
tone.  "  Don't  you  know  that  Frank,  the  incomparable, 
has  been  preparing  for  school  for  this  last  year,  and 
that  best  of  friends,  Lewis,  and  his  papa,  and  his  engi- 


PRANK.  441 

neer,  and  his  colonel,  have  all  been  helping;  strange 
indeed  if  he  were  not  preciously  prepared." 

"  Ay,  ay,  prepared  for  Lewis's  model-school  may  be," 
said  Power,  "  but  he  will  soon  see  the  difference." 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Power,"  said  Shaw,  "depend  upon 
it  we  shall  see  the  difference  between  him  and  all  other 
boys  that  ever  were  bred  or  bom,"  and  Shaw  sung  from 
Midas, 

" '  Cock  of  the  school, 
He  bears  despotic  rule !' " 

In  this  style  they  went  on  for  some  time.  Frank 
took  the  jest,  all  unprepared  as  he  was,  very  well,  and 
stood  being  their  laughing-stock  steadily  enough  for 
some  time,  even  to  Cressingham's  satisfaction,  and  to 
Granville's  surprise.  Cressingham  looked  up  often 
from  his  book,  to  mark  how  it  was  going  on  with  Frank ; 
and  frequently  and  hastily  turned  over  a  new  leaf. 
Granville  did  not  move  his  eyes  from  his  book,  but 
never  turned  over  the  page. 

The  jest  was  carried  on  too  far  and  too  long;  and 

Eresently  Power  audaciously  asserted,  that  all  Frank 
ad  ever  learned  was  stuff  and  nonsense,  that  all  that 
had  been  done  for  him  had  been  ill  done ;  and  that  it 
was  a  shame  his  father  and  mother  had  not  more  sense 
than  to  make  such  a  fool  of  a  boy. 

Power  pronounced  that  Frank  would  be  the  butt  of 
the  whole  school,  to  whatever  school  he  went;  and 
with  Power,  Shaw,  Spellman,  and  delighted  Tom,  loud- 
ly joined  in  full  cry. 

Imagine  Frank's  astonishment;  the  confusion  into 
which  all  his  ideas  and  feelings  were  thrown,  when 
thus,  for  the  first  time  in  his  existence,  he  heard  every 
thing  questioned  which  he  thought  unquestionable, 
every  thing  he  had  been  taught  to  respect,  every  person 
he  held  dear  turned  into  ridicule.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  the  surprise  into  which  he  was  thrown  by  these 
questions,  he  knew  he  could  easily  have  answered  them. 
The  attacks  he  did  not  know  how  to  parry,  because  he 
was  assailed  on  subjects  which  seemed  to  him  to  re- 
quire no  defence,  or  which  he  had  deemed  invulnerable. 
He  was  attacked  on  so  many  points  at  once,  that  he  ran 
backwards  and  forwards,  and  to  opposite  sides,  and  be- 
fore he  knew  where  he  was,  or  which  was  feint  or 
which  was  real  war,  he  heard  the  shout  of  victory,  and 
T3 


442  FRANK. 

found  himself  trampled  upon  by  the  meanest  of  the  ene- 
my, even  by  Tom. 

"  I  may  go  to  bed  now,"  said  Tom,  "  Frank  has  not  a 
word  to  say  for  himself.  I  believe  he  is  going  to  cry 
for  papa  and  mamma,  as  he  did  for  the  horse." 

"  You  meanest  of  creatures !"  exclaimed  Frank,  his 
eyes  flashing  indignation. 

"  Hey-day !"  cried  Granville,  in  a  loud  voice,  putting 
down  his  book. 

Frank  saw  his  enemies  encompassing  him.  Shaw 
with  hand  on  hip,  and  with  his  provoking  air  and  inso- 
lent tone.  Spellman  with  his  mean  smile  and  perfidious 
pity.  Tom  making  his  vulgar  grimaces  behind  backs, 
and  Power  full  in  front,  Colossus-like,  stood  bullying. 

Thoughts  of  vengeance  rose  in  Frank's  soul  as  he 
looked  upon  them — thoughts  of  oversetting  Power,  box- 
ing Shaw,  kicking  Spellman,  and  turning  Tom  out  of 
the  room.  But,  as  his  hand  rose,  and  his  foot  stepped 
forward,  he  saw  Cressingham's  eye  upon  him ;  his 
promise  to  keep  his  temper  smote  him. 

He  rushed  between  Tom  and  Spellman,  made  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  ran  out,  gained  his  own  room,  and 
bolted  the  door.  His  agitation  was  great.  He  threw 
himself,  face  downwards  on  the  bed  ;  he  struggled ;  he 
swallowed  ;  he  conquered.  He  shed  not  a  tear.  In  a 
few  minutes  some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  "  Who  is 
there  V  said  Frank. 

He  was  answered  "  a  friend."  But  it  was  Spellman's 
voice,  and  Frank  replied  "  that  he  could  not  let  him  in." 

"  I've  brought  you  a  candle,"  said  Spellmjm. 

"  I  do  not  want  one,"  said  Frank. 

"  He  is  crying,"  said  another  voice,  which  he  knew 
to  be  Tom's.  Frank  flung  open  the  door  directly,  wide 
as  the  brazen  hinges  could  fly. 

"  I  thought  you  were  crying,"  said  Tom. 

"  You  thought  wrong."  answered  Frank. 

"  I  went  to  your  mother's  room  first ;  I  thought  you 
were  there  complaining  of  us,"  said  Spellman. 

"  Y'ou  see  you  were  mistaken,"  said  Frank,  holding 
the  door  against  them. 

"  But  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  said  Spell- 
man, in  a  fawning  tone. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,"  said  Frank,  closing 
the  door. 

They  lingered  for  some  minutes,  till  they  heard  his 


PRANK. *  443 

mother  coming  along  the  gallery,  and  then  quickly  re- 
treated.    Frank  went  out  to  meet  her,  and  said, 

"  Mother,  I  cannot  come — do  not  ask  me  any  ques- 
tions— good-night." 

"  Good-night,  my  dear  Frank,"  said  she,  "  I  ask  iv) 
questions  ;  I  have  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  you." 

Spellman  stayed  to  listen,  he  must  have  been  vexed 
to  have  heard  only  these  words.  From  a  few  remarks 
he  had  caught  in  going  through  the  billiard-room,  Lewis 
had  a  general  guess  at  what  had  been  passing,  and  hear- 
ing Frank  give  his  mother  this  answer,  he  retired  to  his 
own  room,  without  going  near  him. 

Frank  lay  awake  nearly  two  hours,  which,  at  his  age, 
seems  a  prodigious  length  of  time,  really  the  whole 
night.  He  thought  over  all  that  had  passed,  perceived 
the  answers  he  should  have  given,  wondered  that  they 
had  never  occurred  to  him  at  the  right  moment,  and  in 
the  midst  of  an  eloquent  reply,  such  as  he  was  deter- 
mined to  make  next  time  to  Shaw  and  Power,  he  at  last 
fell  asleep. 


After  some  hours  sound  sleep,  Frank  wakened  in  the 
morning,  and,  stretching  himself,  recollected  that  some- 
thing painful  had  happened  the  preceding  evening.  As 
he  put  back  the  curtain,  he  saw  Lewis  sitting  in  the 
room  reading,  waiting  till  he  wakened.  Lewis  told 
him,  that  though  he  did  not  know  the  particulars  of 
what  had  passed  yesterday  evening,  he  had  learned,  in 
general,  that  Frank  had  been  talking  a  great  deal  of  his 
own  home,  and  that  Shaw  had  been  laughing  at  him, 
and  quizzing  him. 

"  1  remember,"  said  Lewis,  "  the  first  time  I  left  my 
own  family,  I  was  quite  surprised,  just  as  you  are,  at 
finding  things  different  from  what  I  had  been  used  to.  I 
thought  that  nothing  could  be  so  well  done  as  at  home, 
and  I  said  so  upon  every  occasion ;  I  was  laughed  at  for 
this,  and  then  1  learned  to  keep  my  thoughts  to  myself." 

"  So  will  I  next  time,"  said  Frank. 

"  And  when  I  found,"  continued  Lewis,  "  that  nobody 
cared  what  I  did  at  home,  I  left  off  talking  about  it." 

"  But,"  said  Frank,  "  Shaw  made  me  believe  he  did 
care  about  it,  and  that  led  me  on  last  night,  and  made 


444  PRANK. 

me  forget  your  advice;  he  deceived  me — ^he  cheated 
me,  only  to  laugh  at  me  afterward. 

"  That  kind  of  cheating  is  called  quizzing,  by  men 
and  schoolboys,"  said  Lewis,  "  and  is  thought  a  good 
joke,  and  very  witty." 

"  I  see  no  wit  in  it,"  said  Frank,  his  anger  again ' 
rising  at  the  recollection  of  his  having  been  laughed  at ; 
"  but  the  joke  cannot  do  again,  because,  now  I  know 
that  people  mean  to  deceive  me,  I  shall  not  be  taken  in 
another  time.  '  Once  to  deceive  be  his,  but  twice  were 
mine.' " 

"  Cressingham  told  me,"  said  Lewis,  "  that  you  got 
through  it  very  well,  considering  it  was  the  first  time  of 
quizzing." 

"  The  first  time !  I  hope  it  will  be  the  last,"  said 
Frank. 

"  Oh,  do  not  flatter  yourself  with  that  hope,  my  dear 
Frank,"  said  Lewis. 

"  What  ■?  Is  this  to  go  on  for  ever  t"  said  Frank.  "  If 
they  laugh  at  me  continually  in  this  way  at  school,  I 
am  afraid  I  shall  be  very  unhappy." 

"  That  you  will,  indeed,  my  dear  Frank,  if  you  mind 
such  things,"  said  Lewis.  "  If  once  the  boys  find  that 
they  can  vex  you  by  laughing,  you  will  have  no  peace, 
they  will  only  laugh  the  more.  I  remember  hearing  a 
story  of  a  boy,  who  was  afterward  a  very  celebrated 
man,  whose  hair  had  been  shaved  off  in  some  illness, 
and  who  was  forced  to  wear  a  wig  when  he  first  went 
to  school ;  and  his  schoolfellows  plagued  him  perpetual- 
ly, pulling  it  off,  till  he  began  to  laugh  at  it  himself,  and 
snatching  it  off  his  head  one  day,  he  threw  it  up  to  the 
ceiling,  and  was  the  first  to  kick  it  about ;  from  that 
time  they  never  laughed  at  him.  I  recollected  this  for 
my  own  benefit  when  first  I  went  to  school ;  I  do^'t 
mean  that  I  had  a  wig,  but  I  happened  to  have  a  brown 
hat,  when  all  the  other  boys  had  black  hats,  and  they 
ridiculed  me  for  my  brown  hat,  till  I  laughed  at  it  my- 
self, and  then,  when  they  found  they  could  not  vex  me, 
they  let  me  and  my  hat  alone." 

"That  was  well  done  of  you,"  said  Frank,  "and  I 
will  remember  the  hat  and  wig,  if  I  can,  the  next  time 
I  am  laughed  at.  But  Lewis,  though  this  wiU  do  for 
trifles,  it  will  not  do  when  we  come  to  be  serious." 

"  But  you  must  not  be  serious ;  you  take  the  matter 
too  gravely,"  said  Lewis. 


PRANK.  445 

"  Indeed,  I  think  it  grew  serious,"  said  Frank,  "  when 
they  said  that  all  that  had  ever  been  taught  me  was 
quite  wrong." 

"  Pooh !  what  signifies  what  they  say,"  cried  Lewis. 
"  Can  their  saying  it  is  wrong  make  it  so  V 

"  Certainly  net !"  said  Frank ;  "  if  they  had  given  me 
any  reasons,  I  could  have  answered  them,  but  they  only 
said  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again.  And  when  it 
came  to  laughing  at  me  for  loving  my  mother  so  much 
— my  dear  Lewis,  I  could  not  get  out  a  word,  I  had  so 
much  to  say,  and  I  felt — " 

"  Oh,  you  felt  too  much,  a  great  deal,  about  it.  You 
are  not  used  to  quizzing  schoolboys,"  said  Lewis. 

"  What  1  felt  most  of  all  was  Mr.  Granville's  unkind- 
ness  in  not  saying  a  word  to  help  me,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  think  he  was  very  illnatured,"  said  Lewis. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Lewis,"  continued  Frank,  "  the  more  I 
see  and  feel,  the  more  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  not  to  go  to 
school  with  you,  for  with  you  I  should  have  a  good 
friend,  who  would  advise  me  in  every  difficulty." 

Lewis  was  exceedingly  sorry,  too,  that  he  could  not 
have  Frank ;  but  since  it  could  not  be,  it  was  in  vain  to 
regret  it. 

"  1  see  Granville  is  so  capricious,  I  cannot  under- 
stand him,"  said  Frank.  "  He  will  never  be  satisfied 
unless  I  flatter  him,  and  I  never  will  flatter  him.  He 
wants  to  show  me,  I  believe,  that  I  cannot  do  without 
his  protection." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Lewis,  "  and  do  you  show  him  that 
you  can.  He  will  respect  you,  and  like  you  the  better 
for  it ;  at  all  events,  I  am  sure  Cressingham  will  be  a 
good  friend  to  you,  and  I  say  to  you,  as  he  did,  '  keep 
your  temper,  and  I  will  stand  by  you.'  And  as  to 
school,  do  not  be  afraid  of  the  quizzing,  either  for  trifles 
or  serious  things;  remember,  you  may  always  have 
fair  laugh  for  laugh,  or  fair  reason  for  reason,  or  fair 
boxing  for  boxing." 

"  Fair  boxing !  oh,  that  is  what  I  want  to  come  to,'' 
said  Frank.  "I  must  learn  how  to  box.  You  must 
teach  me." 

"  You  will  learn  it  easily,  that  is,  when  you  have 

been  beaten  half  a  dozen  times,"  said  Lewis,  laughing ; 

"  but  you  cannot  begin  to  learn  it  this  minute.     Finish 

dressing  yourself,  for  the  breakfast-bell  has  rung.    All 

38 


446  PRANK. 

you  have  to  do  here  is  to  go  on  as  you  have  begun. 
Do  not  let  them  put  you  out  of  humour." 

"  I  will  not,  if  I  can  possibly  help  it,"  said  Frank ; 
"but  Power  is  so  rough,  and  Shaw  is  so  teasing,  and 
Spellman  is  so  mean,  and  Tom,  now  he  has  jumped  out 
of  his  bashfulness,  is  so  impudent." 

"  True,  but  never  mind  all  that,"  said  Lewis.  "  You 
have  only  a  few  days  more  to  spend  with  them,  and  it 
signifies  little  what  they  think  of  you,  or  your  educa- 
tion, or  your  father  and  mother.  And  as  to  Granville, 
if  he  does  not  behave  well  to  you,  depend  upon  it  your 
father  is  attending  to  all  that  goes  on,  and  he  will  see  it 
without  your  complaining." 

Fortified  in  this  manner  by  his  good  friend  Lewis's 
advice,  Frank  did  keep  up  his  spirits,  did  not  mind  their 
foolish  laughing  at  him,  and  was  steady  in  his  own 
right  way.  In  vain  Shaw  and  Power  teased  and  quizzed 
him ;  he  took  it  all  in  good  part,  and  with  great  good- 
humour.  One  trial  he  had,  which  it  was  indeed  hard  to 
stand,  particularly  as  it  was  on  a  point,  the  right  and 
wrong  of  which  he  had  not  determined  to  his  own  satis- 
faction. By  what  he  had  accidently  heard  from  Shaw 
and  Power,  he  was  afraid  he  should  not  know  how  to 
make  honour  and  good-nature  to  his  schoolfellows  al- 
ways agree  with  his  obedience  to  his  masters  and  with 
truth. 

One  day  he  chanced  to  come  into  the  room,  when 
Messrs.  Shaw  and  Power,  and  some  of  the  young  people 
were  talking  together  very  eagerly,  but  all  the  voices 
ceased  the  moment  he  entered ;  he  heard  only  from  Shaw 
the  words  "  the  boat !"  and  "  Hush!  here's  Frank  coming." 

"  And  what  harm  shall  I  do  you  .?"  said  Frank. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom,  "  but  I  know  I  would  not 
trust  you." 

"  Not  trust  me  1"  said  Frank,  "  that  is  very  unjust," 

"  That's  like  him,"  cried  Power,  "  always  talking  of 
injustice,  as  if  anybody  cared  what  he  thinks  unjust— 
a  little  hop-o'-my-thumb  like  him." 

"  My  being  little  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  business," 
said  Frank ;  "  but  since  you  don't  like  to  go  on  with 
what  you  were  saying  before  me,  I  will  go  away." 

"  O  let  him  stay,"  said  one  of  Shaw's  sisters,  a  pretty 
young  lady,  who  was  present ;  "  he  will  do  no  harm." 

"  Only  he  tells  his  mamma  every  thing  he  sees  and 
hears,"  said  Shaw ;  "  you  know  he  acknowledges  he 


FRANK.  447 

does  not  rightly  understand  our  points  of  honour ;  and  I 
will  engage  that  he  cannot  keep  a  secret." 

"  I  understand  what  I  think  honourable,"  said  Frank, 
"  and  I  can  keep  a  secret  as  well  as  anybody,  when  I 
choose  it ;  but  I  don't  want  to  know  yours,  so  I  shall 
go  away." 

"  Ho,  ho  !  grandissimo  !"  cried  Shaw,  setting  his  back 
against  the  door,  to  prevent  Frank  from  going  out. 
"  Stay,  now :  pray  now,  you  who  know  every  thing, 
do  you  know  how  to  make  good  excuses  for  a  friend  in 
need  ?  for  I  assure  you  that's  part  of  the  business  of  a 
fag  at  school ;  else  how  could  he  keep  his  master's  se- 
crets 1  Come,  try  your  skill,  let  us  see  what  sort  of  an 
excuse  you  can  make.  Suppose  now  thus :  I  have 
gone  down  to  the  boat,  and  nobody  is  to  know  it,  you 
understand,  and  you  are  asked  where  I  am  gone — " 

"  I  cannot  tell  a  lie,  if  that's  what  you  mean,"  said 
Frank. 

"  Ah,  you  see,"  said  Tom, "  didn't  I  tell  you  ?  didn't  I 
know  him'?" 

"If  my  fag  were  to  give  me  such  an  answer  at 
school,"  said  Power,  "  I'd  soon  settle  him,  that's  cer- 
tain." 

"  One  comfort  is,  I  am  never  to  be  your  fag,"  said 
Frank. 

"  You  cannot  conceive,  then,  that  there  may  be  a  dif- 
ference," said  Shaw,  "  between  telling  a  fib  to  save  your 
friend  when  he  asks  you,  and  a  lie  to  save  yourself]" 

"  I  know  there  is  some  difference,"  said  Frank. 

"  But,"  said  Shaw,  "  you  would  not  save  your  friend 
— is  that  it  ?  You  would  not  stick  to  him,  you  would 
betray  him." 

"  That  I  am  sure  I  never  should,"  cried  Frank :  "  I 
never  shall  betray  anybody." 

"  But  if  you  always  tell  the  truth,  you  must." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Shaw ;  you  only  want 
to  puzzle  me.  I  will  never  betray  anybody,  but  I  will 
always  tell  the  truth,  and  that  is  all  I  have  to  say,  so  let 
me  go." 

"  Here  is  our  boatman,"  said  Power.  "  We  shall  have 
better  sport  now  than  plaguing  this  foolish  boy ;"  and 
Shaw  opening  the  door,  Frank  ran  off,  seized  his  hat, 
and  darted  out,  hoping  to  have  a  pleasant  walk  with 
Lewis;  but  as  he  ran  down  the  sloping  lawn,  Shaw 
called  to  nim,  and,  on  his  turning  back,  said, 


448  PRANK. 

"  Remember,  my  little  man,  you  said  you  could  keep 
a  secret :  don't  say  any  thing  to  anybody  if  you  guess 
what  we  are  going  to  do." 

"  Not  unless  I  am  asked,"  answered  Frank. 

"  And  if  you  are  asked,  cannot  you  say  you  don't 
know  T" 

"  No,  I  cannot,  because  I  heard  some  of  you  say  the 
word  boat,  and  I  guess  what  you  are  going  to  do." 

Shaw  muttered  something  like  an  oath ;  Frank  did  not 
stay  to  hear  it,  but  ran  down  the  sloping  lawn  to  the 
river  side,  where  he  expected  to  find  Lewis.  As  he 
went  on  in  search  of  him,  he  met  two  boatmen,  who, 
talking  to  each  other,  said,  "  There  is  coming  on  a 
squall ;  if  these  young  chaps  go  out  without  us,  they  will 
repent  it." 

"  True  ;  I  shall  go  in  and  smoke  my  pipe  with  you  at 
the  lodge,"  answered  the  other. 

Frank  could  not  find  Lewis,  but  he  pursued  his  walk 
alone  through  a  grove  to  a  high  bank,  from  which,  be- 
tween the  trees,  he  could  see  the  river,  and  presently 
he  saw  a  little  pleasure-boat  coming  along  with  several 
people  in  it,  Shaw,  and  Power,  and  Tom  rowing.  Two 
ladies  were  in  the  boat,  two  Miss  Shaws,  who  were 
fond  of  being  in  every  adventure  and  party  of  pleasure, 
or,  as  Shaw  said,  were  up  to  any  thing.  Lady  Chep- 
stow had  forbidden  the  using  of  this  boat,  which  even  her 
lord  said  was  a  dangerous  little  cockle-shell.  The  boat- 
man's prophecy  was  not  accomplished,  no  squall  arose  ; 
but  by  their  own  awkwardness,  by  Power's  obstinacy, 
as  Shaw  said — or  by  Shaw's  conceit,  as  Power  would 
have  it,  they  ran  the  boat  too  near  the  shore ;  then 
shoving  her  off  again,  they  tilted  her  so  much,  that  the 
ladies,  terrified,  caught  at  some  branches  of  trees  which 
hung  over  the  spot ;  and  to  these  they  clung  screaming, 
while  the  boat  went  from  under  their  feet.  The 
branches  to  which  they  hung  stretched  to  a  great  dis- 
tance from  land.  The  boat  overset ;  Power  and  Shaw 
were  plunged  into  the  water.  Tom,  at  the  first  symp- 
tom of  danger,  jumped  on  shore.  Frank  ran  down  the 
bank ;  his  first  thought  was  to  call  the  boatmen,  but  he 
saw  the  imminent  danger  of  one  of  the  ladies,  who, 
clinging  as  she  was  to  a  weak  bough,  seemed  weighed 
down  by  her  cloak,  the  hood  of  which  had  filled  with 
water.  Frank  threw  off  his  coat,  and  knowing  well 
how  to  swim,  swam  round  till  he  got  opposite  to  her, 


FRANK.  449 

untied  the  cloak,  and  the  moment  she  was  free  from  its 
weight  she  rose  again.  By  this  time  Shaw  and  Power 
had  swam  and  scrambled  to  the  bank,  from  which  Pow- 
er would  not  again  stir,  but  he  held  out  an  oar,  which 
was  of  some  service.  Shaw,  seeing  his  sisters'  peril, 
swam  to  their  assistance,  while  Frank,  regaining  the 
bank,  ran  to  the  porter's  lodge  for  ihp  boatmen.  Tom, 
to  whom  he  had  repeatedly  called,  begging  him  to  go 
for  them,  stood  quite  disabled  or  obstinate.  The  boat- 
men came,  the  two  ladies  were  released  from  their  per- 
ilous situation,  and  brought  safely  to  land.  All  drenched 
and  fatigued  as  they  were,  they  had  to  walk  home,  a 
mile  by  a  back  way,  to  avoid  being  seen  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  house.  No  sooner  did  the  ladies  recover 
from  one  danger,  than,  in  the  midst  of  their  gratitude  to 
Frank,  fears  of  another  nature  rose,  and  Shaw  whis- 
pered, "  He  will  never  be  able  to  refrain  from  boasting 
how  finely  he  has  saved  you."  Frank  took  no  notice 
of  these  whispers,  but  went  home,  took  off  his  wet 
clothes,  gave  them  to  Shaw  to  have  them  dried  with  his 
own,  reappeared  in  the  drawing-room,  and  never  said 
one  word  of  their  adventure.  No  questions  were  asked 
him :  he  left  the  rest  of  the  party  to  say  what  they 
pleased  for  themselves,  and  despised  them  for  the  false 
excuses  they  made.  One  of  the  Miss  Shaws,  who  had 
been  too  much  drenched  to  reappear  this  evening,  sent 
word  that  she  had  gone  to  bed  ill  with  a  headache,  and 
her  sister,  who,  as  most  people  said,  had  great  sensibil- 
ity, stayed  to  nurse  her.  Stupid  Power,  half  asleep, 
when  called  to  billiards,  let  out  something  of  his  arms 
being  too  much  tired  with  rowing.  The  word  rowing 
caught  Lady  Chepstow's  ear,  and  turning,  she  immedi- 
ately asked  who  talked  of  rowing. 

"  Power  talked  of  it,  ma'am,  in  his  sleep,"  said  Shaw; 
"  I  suppose  he  was  dreaming  of  rowing." 

"  But,"  added  Spellman,  in  his  courtly  tone,  "  he 
never  would  dream  of  disobeying  your  ladyship's  orders, 
1  am  sure." 

"  Frank  looks  very  guilty,"  said  Lady  Chepstow. 

"  Perhaps  I  look  guilty,  but  I  am  innocent,"  said 
Frank. 

"  Have  you  been  out  in  the  boat,  Frank  ?"  said  Lady 
Chepstow,  eagerly. 

'     "  I  have  not,  I  assure  you,  ma'am,"  said  Frank,  and 
he  quietly  went  on  with  his  game  of  draughts 
37* 


450  FRANK. 

But  Lady  Chepstow,  following  the  hint  which  Mr. 
Power  had  let  out,  rang  for  her  own  man,  and  sent  him 
with  such  instructions  and  such  silver  tokens  to  the 
boatmen,  as  soon  put  her  in  possession  of  the  principal 
fact,  that  a  party  had  been  out  in  the  boat ;  this,  indeed, 
could  not  be  denied,  from  the  place  in  which  it  was 
found  by  the  servant,  at  a  considerable  distance  from  its 
natural  home  in  the  boathouse. 

Lady  Chepstow  now  said  that  she  had  a  beautiful  new 
boat,  which  she  had  intended  the  young  gentlemen 
should  have  had  the  pleasure  of  launching  the  next  day ; 
but  she  declared  she  never  would  permit  this  boat  to  be 
launched  by  them  till  the  mystery  was  cleared  up  by 
some  one  of  the  company,  concerning  the  boating-party 
of  this  morning.  "  And,"  added  her  ladyship, "  whoever 
clears  it  up  shall  have  the  launching  of  the  boat.  Frank, 
what  say  you  ?" 

"  I  say  nothing,  madam,"  said  Frank. 

Power  and  Shaw,  as  soon  as  Lady  Chepstow  was  out 
of  hearing,  observed,  that  they  did  not  care,  as  they 
should  go  away  so  soon,  and  they  had  had  boating 
enough  for  this  season. 

Frank  was  exceedingly  sorry  to  give  up  boating  in  the 
new  boat :  it  would  have  been  a  pleasure,  and  the 
launching  it  would  have  been  glorious ;  but  he  was 
steady.  Never  by  word,  or  look,  or  sigh,  did  he  betray 
them ;  and  without  departing  in  the  slightest  degree 
from  the  truth,  he  kept  their  secret.  He  refrained  from 
claiming  the  honour  of  having  saved  the  ladies,  and 
never  told  what  he  had  done,  to  his  father,  mother,  or 
Mary. 

The  ladies  were  satisfied  and  surprised  by  his  secre- 
cy. Power  acknowledged  that  the  little  fellow  had 
shown  he  was  no  telltale.  But  Shaw,  in  his  depreci- 
ating tone,  said  only,  "  It  was  lucky  I  warned  him  well 
beforehand  of  the  danger  of  blabbing." 

Frank  thought  this  the  unkindest  cut  of  all.  But  his 
own  conscience  was  satisfied,  and  that  was  enough. 
The  steadiness  with  which  he  stood  this  trial  made  them 
all  respect  him,  and  the  good-humour  which  he  showed 
when  they  laughed  at  or  plagued  him,  conquered  all  but 
Shaw.  Power  said  he  would  let  him  alone  now  he 
found  that  he  was  a  noun  substantive,  and  could  stand 
by  himself.  And  Shaw,  the  day  he  left  Bellombre,  was 
heard  to  observe  that  Frank  was  sharp  enough ;  so  that 


FRANK.  ^fil 

really  it  began,  he  said,  to  be  diamond  cut  diamond  be- 
tween them. 

"  How  glad  you  must  be  that  I  am  going  away !"  said 
Shaw,  as  he  stepped  into  the  carriage  after  his  father. 

"  Glad !  no,"  said  Frank ;  "  you  never  did  me  any 
harm ;  you  have  done  me  a  great  deal  of  good — you 
have  cured  me  of  minding  your  wit." 

The  more  Granville  perceived  that  his  little  protege 
could  do  without  his  protection,  the  more  his  attention 
was  fixed  upon  him ;  and  several  circumstances  soon 
contributed  to  raise  Frank  still  higher  in  his  esteem. 

The  day  on  which  Mr.  Shaw  and  his  son  left  Bel- 
lombre,  there  came  in  their  place  a  naval  officer,  a  well- 
informed  gentleman,  who  had  seen  many  difterent  parts 
of  the  world ;  in  China,  in  India,  in  Russia,  and  in  the 
north  seas.  He  related,  in  an  entertaining  manner,  what 
he  had  seen  or  heard  ;  and  Frank,  eager  for  knowledge, 
listened  to  him  with  the  greatest  attention. 

Parts  of  various  books  of  voyages  and  travels,  which 
Frank  had  read,  supplied  him  with  such  general  infor- 
mation on  these  subjects,  that  he  was  able  to  compre- 
hend and  take  a  lively  interest  in  all  that  he  now  heard. 

The  conversation  turned  on  an  expedition  to  the  North 
Pole,  which  was  at  this  time  setting  out. 

Our  captain  spoke  of  the  former  voyage  of  Commo- 
dore Phipps,  of  the  wonderful  exertions  which  he  and 
his  men  had  made  to  save  themselves  from  being  de- 
stroyed by  the  drifting  masses  of  ice:  Of  the  dock  which 
he  scooped  out  in  the  solid  rock  for  his  vessels :  Of  the 
manner  in  which,  with  their  poles,  they  pushed  away 
the  masses  of  ice  :  Of  the  joy  with  which  they  effected 
their  deliverance,  and  saw  land  again  from  the  mast- 
head :  Of  the  pleasure  with  which,  when  they  felt  them- 
selves out  of  danger,  they  looked  upon  the  various  forms 
of  the  broken  ice  that  they  had  sailed  through :  In  par- 
ticular one  magnificent  arch,  through  which  a  sloop 
might  have  sailed  without  lowering  her  mast. 

Frank  longed  to  hear  him  speak  of  the  people  who 
first  discovered  Spitzbergen — of  the  three  ships  and  the 
sailors  who  were  frozen  up,  and  who  were  found  long 
afterward  by  the  wandering  Laplanders ;  but  our  cap- 
tain did  not  go  back  to  those  old  times,  and  as  he  was 
a  stranger,  Frank  did  not  venture  to  ask  him  any  ques- 
tions. He  listened  in  silence.  He  had  now  learned 
discretion  enough  never  to  attempt  to  display  his  little 


458  FRANK    ' 

knowledge.  His  pleasure  was  now  in  adding  to  his 
stock.  But  the  captain,  whose  eye  was  caught  by 
Frank's  intelligent  countenance,  and  who  observed  the 
extreme  attention  with  which  he  continued  to  listen, 
sometimes  turned  to  him,  and  told  him  such  anecdotes 
as  he  thought  suited  to  his  age.  In  particular,  he  men- 
tioned, that  in  the  Expedition  which  was  now  fitting 
out  for  the  North  Pole,  "  some  kind-hearted  person,  a 
stranger  to  Captain  Parry,  sent  to  offer  him  fifty  pounds, 
for  the  purchase  of  any  thing  which  might  amuse  the 
crews  of  his  ship  during  the  ensuing  winter.  A  magic 
lantern  was  the  thing  chosen,  whose  scenes  might  en- 
tertain them  with  views  of  different  countries,  or  remind 
them  of  their  own,  and  thus  furnish  them  with  a  sort  of 
home,  while  they  were  lingering  on  the  shores  of  the 
Polar  sea." 

Frank  very  much  liked  this  idea ;  and  the  company 
began  to  entertain  themselves  with  considering  what 
pictures  they  would  have  put  on  the  different  slides  of 
the  magic  lantern.  One  said,  London  Bridge,  with  car- 
riages and  passengers.  Another,  the  London  cries. 
Another,  a  rowing-match  on  the  Thames.  Great  varie- 
ty was  suggested ;  at  last,  Frank  was  called  upon  by 
the  officer  to  furnish  a  slide.  He  recollected  a  scene 
which  he  thought  would  divert  the  sailors ;  but  he  was 
not  sure  whether  it  would  do,  whether  it  would  be  pos- 
sible to  represent  it. 

"  Tell  it  to  us,  my  little  fellow,  and  we  will  try  and 
help  you  out." 

"  You  were  speaking  of  Phipps's  voyage,  sir;  do  you 
remember  the  captain,  who  was  too  fat  to  run,  but  who 
was  such  a  coward  that  he  did  one  day  run  away  fast 
enough,  and  too  fast  from  the  bears ;  he  dropped  his 
gun,  and  stumbled  against  the  nest  of  a  goose,  who  was 
sitting  on  her  eggs  ;  then  was  attacked  by  the  enraged 
gander,  who  flew  about  his  head,  and  pecked  at  his 
nose  ;  and  was  at  last  saved  from  gander  and  bears,  by 
his  sailors  firing  for  him  just  in  time  ]" 

Some  of  the  company  laughed  at  this  story,  and  ap- 
plauded Frank's  proposal ;  others  thought  it  impractica- 
ble ;  others  wished  to  see  exactly  what  was  said  about 
it  in  the  book  ;  and  Power  was  pretty  sure  it  could  not 
be  true,  and  that  Frank  had  either  mistaken  about  the 
goose,  or  that  he  had  embroidered,  a  cant  expression, 
meaning  that  he  had  exaggerated.    Frank  did  not  know 


FRANK.  4S8 

what  was  meant  by  his  embroidering  a  goose ;  which  ig- 
norance of  his  exposed  him  to  much  derision  from  Tom, 
who  laughed  as  much  as  he  dared  to  laugh  in  company, 
with  both  hands  stopping  his  mouth,  and  slipping  down 
to  hide  his  head  under  the  table.  Lewis  went  to  look 
for  Phipps's  voyage  in  the  library  ;  and  Granville — yes, 
Granville  himself — rose  to  show  him  where  it  was.  But 
before  Granville,  to  whom  Lewis  resigned  the  book, 
could  find  the  passage  in  the  quarto  volume,  Miss  Gran- 
ville, with  Mary's  assistance,  found,  in  a  little  book  of 
hers,  "  Winter  Evenings,  or  Tales  of  Travellers,"  3d  vol- 
ume, in  the  "  Adventures  in  the  Arctic  Ocean,"  the  anec- 
tode  to  which  Frank  alluded ;  and  it  was  read  aloud  by 
Cressingham. 

"  The  captain  endeavoured  to  follow  his  men,  but, 
unfortunately,  he  was  very  fat,  and  consequently,  run- 
ning did  not  suit  him,  and  he  was  soon  quite  out  of 
breath.  He  saw  that  the  bear,  which  came  in  the  wa- 
ter, had  just  reached  the  shore,  and  now  he  thought  of 
nothing  but  of  becoming  the  prey  of  this  formidable  an- 
imal. His  hair  stood  on  end.  He  looked  behind  him, 
and  saw  the  bear  but  a  little  way  off,  advancing  with  his 
nose  in  the  air,  as  if  he  was  snuffing  the  scent." 

"  But  not  a  word  about  the  goose  or  her  nest,"  said 
Power. 

"  Read  on,"  said  Granville.  ■» 

"  Just  at  this  moment  the  captain  unfortunately  drop-  * 
ped  his  gun ;  and  stooping  to  pick  it  up  again,  he  stum- 
bled against  the  jiest  of  a  goose,  who  was  sitting  on  her 
eggs,  and  down  he  fell  flat.  He  had  hardly  time  to  get 
up  again,  before  the  enraged  gander  flew  to  the  assist- 
ance of  the  half-smothered  goose ;  he  darted  at  the  eyes 
of  the  ofiicer,  but  luckily  missed  his  aim,  and  only  in- 
jured the  poor  man's  nose.  The  gander  prepared  for  a 
second  attack,  which  might  have  had  worse  consequen- 
ces, if  the  sailors,  seeing  their  commander  so  beset,  had 
not  come  to  his  relief." 

Lady  Chepstow  observed  that  Frank  had  remembered 
and  stated  the  facts  quite  accurately.  This  time  Gran- 
ville did  not  listen  with  his  former  coldness  to  his  moth- 
er's approbation,  but  smiled  when  she  added,  in  a  whis- 
per, "  I  always  told  you,  Horace,  that  this  protege  of 
yours  would  do  you  credit." 

Frank's  mother  observed  with  pleasure,  that  upon  this 
occasion  he  said  no  more  than  just  the  thing  he  ought, 


454  FRANK. 

and  that  he  was  not  thinking  of  attracting  notice,  but 
quite  intent  upon  acquiring  fresh  knowledge  from  the 
naval  officer,  who  was  now  so  kind  as  to  talk  to  him. 

Tom,  from  the  beginning  of  this  conversation,  had  be- 
come uneasy  in  his  chair,  and  in  the  progress  of  it  had 
fidgeted  continually,  and  fiddled  with  every  thing  within 
his  reach,  and  made  such  teasing  noises  with  every  thing 
he  touched,  that  Lady  Chepstow  looked  as  if  she  could 
not  endure  it  any  longer.  He  now  relieved  her  lady- 
ship by  darting  out  of  the  room.  He  fled,  seized  with  a 
panic  fear  that  his  turn  would  come  next,  that  the  officer 
might  put  to  him  some  posing  question,  or  perhaps  might 
ask  him  for  a  slide  in  the  lantern.  His  fears  were  ground- 
less ;  that  gentleman  never  once  thought  of  him ;  but 
Tom  fled  as  if  he  had  been  pursued  by  the  bears,  nor 
stopped  till  he  found  himself  safe  in  Spellman's  room. 

Power  next  withdrew  himself;  and,  having  stretched 
and  yawned  long  and  loud,  pronounced,  that  in  his  humble 
opinion,  though  that  navy  fellow  was  a  relation  of  Lord 
Chepstow's,  he  talked  too  much,  and  for  his  part,  he  de- 
clared he  could  not  pretend  to  follow  him.  Indeed,  it 
would  have  been  a  vain  effort,  for  he  was  so  ignorant, 
that  if  report  say  true,  he  was  found  at  a  map  searching 
for  Spitzbergen  somewhere  near  Spithead,  and  after- 
ward at  Bergen-op-zoom.  When  Lewis  endeavoured  to 
set  him  right  without  exposing  his  almost  incredible  ig- 
norance, he,  with  a  foolish  taunt,  said  he  was  obliged  to 
him,  he  did  not  set  up  for  understanding  geography  and 
such  things  as  well  as  surveyors,  and  engineers,  and  pro- 
fessional people  must.  If  he  had  been  the  son  of  a  sur- 
veyor or  an  engineer,  he  should,  he  supposed,  know 
better ;  but  his  father  would  buy  for  him  a  fine  set  of 
maps  the  first  opportunity,  and  then  he  would  sit  down 
some  morning  and  take  to  geography :  that  is  to  say,  as 
much  as  was  necessary  for  a  gentleman ;  but  he  never 
intended  to  make  a  pedant  of  himself.  It  was  quite 
pedantic,  as  he  voted,  to  be  too  accurate  about  the  names 
of  places,  and  so  forth.  There  were  some  things  of 
which  he  owned  he  was  ignorant,  and  he  thanked 
Heaven  for  it. 

"  What,"  said  Lewis,  "  do  you  thank  Heaven  for  your 
ignorance  V 

"  And  if  I  do,  sir,"  said  Power,  fiercely,  "  what  have 
you  to  say  to  that,  pray  V 


fftANK.  .  455 

•  Nothing,"  answered  Lewis,  "  but  that  you  have  eer- 
tainly  a  great  deal  to  thank  Heaven  for." 

"  Very  fair !"  said  Granville. 

Mr.  Power's  ignorance  of  every  thing  but  Latin  had 
often  been  complained  of  by  h'is  father,  Who  attributed 
it  to  some  fault  in  his  school ;  but  perhaps  it  had  been 
also  the  fault  of  his  home,  where  he  had  acquired  the 
notion  that  wealth  would  supply  all  deficiencies,  and 
that  a  gentleman  of  fortune  must  command  respect,  and 
can  purchase  all  the  information  he  needs. 

Frank  was  glad  to  hear  the  strong  tone  in  which 
Granville  pronounced  the  words  "Very  fair!"  and  he 
was  still  more  glad  when  Granville  repeated, 

"  Very  good,  Lewis." 

Granville's  frozen  manner  towards  Frank  was  thaw- 
ing, but  it  had  not  quite  got  rid  of  its  stiffness.  Spell- 
man  watched  him,  saw  this  change,  and  returned  to  his 
former  appearance  of  good-nature  ;  but  Frank  kept  at  a 
distance  from  him,  and  retired  as  much  as  he  could  from 
his  civilities. 

He  saw  Tom  and  Spellman  conferring  together  one 
day,  and  by  what  they  said  to  each  other,  they  seemed 
desirous  to  attract  his  attention. 

"I  told  you,"  said  Spellman,  "that  you  were  very 
rude  that  first  night,  and  you  ought  to  say  that  you  Wer6 
very  sorry,  as  I  am  sure  you  are." 

No  answer  from  Tom. 

"  Tom,  how  can  you  expect  that  any  one  will  do  you 
a  favour,  if  you  are  not  commonly  civil  ?"  pursued  Spell- 
man. "  Remember,  I  teU  you,  you  have  missed  your 
best  time  for  asking." 

"  My  mother  should  have  asked,  when  I  desired  her," 
was  all  Tom's  reply. 

"But  he  is  so  good-natured,"  said  Spellman,  "you 
had  better  ask  him  now,  or  let  me  ask  him,  do  ;  or  get 
his  friend,  Lewis,  to  ask  him.  I  am  sure  he  would  do 
it.     But  if  you  put  it  off,  Tom,  I  give  you  up." 

"  I'll  ask  when  I  please,"  said  Tom,  "  or  not  at  all." 

Frank,  perceiving  that  he  was  the  person  from  whom 
something  was  to  be  asked,  was  tempted  to  inquire 
what  it  was ;  but  he  did  not  like  Spellman's  mean,  in- 
direct way  of  proceeding,  and  he  determined  first  to 
consult  Lewis,  who  advised  him  to  say  nothing,  but  to 
let  Tom  take  his  own  way,  and  either  plainly  make  his 
request,  whatever  it  might  be,  or  let  it  alone. 


456  FRANK. 


Therb  was  at  Bellombre  a  walk,  which  they  called  th« 
Midsummer  walk ;  it  was  shaded  with  lime-trees,  which 
arched  overhead,  so  as  to  be  impenetrable  to  the  rays 
of  the  sun ;  it  was  straight,  and  very  long  :  at  one  end 
of  it  was  a  pleasant  summer-house,  at  the  other  it 
opened  to  a  smooth  shaven  lawn,  which  had  been  in 
former  times  a  bowling-green,  and  which  was  used  by 
the  young  people  at  this  day  for  ninepins  and  other 
sports. 

One  hot  day,  Frank,  Power,  Tom,  Spellman,  with 
some  others,  were  playing  at  ninepins  there,  when 
Frank  saw  his  mother  pass,  with  a  book  in  her  hand, 
towards  the  Midsummer- walk.  He  had  a  great  mind  to 
follow  her,  but  it  was  his  turn  to  play  next.  He  was 
called  upon,  and  he  went  on  with  his  game,  saying  to 
himself,  that  as  soon  as  this  game  was  finished,  he  would 
follow  his  mother,  and  cool  himself  in  the  shade,  for 
he  had  heated  himself  nmning  to  set  up  the  ninepins 
for  everybody;  but,  before  this  game  was  ended,  a  ser- 
vant came  running  to  them  out  of  breath. 

"  Gentlemen !  there  is  a  mad  dog  in  the  grounds,  my 
lady  desires  you  will  run  in  directly."  Instantly  they 
all  ran  towards  the  garden-door,  which  was  opposite  to 
them,  and  which  was  the  nearest  place  of  safety ;  the 
dog  appeared,  pursued  by  men  with  pitchforks ;  the 
boys  reached  the  garden-door,  and  were  safe,  all  but 
Frank,  who,  recollecting  his  mother,  instead  of  follow- 
ing his  companions,  ran  down  the  Midsummer-walk  to 
call  her.  He  saw  her  at  a  distance ;  he  ran  as  fast  as 
possible  ;  he  called  as  loud  as  ever  he  could  call,  but  she 
did  not  hear  him ;  her  back  was  towards  him.  As  he 
ran,  he  heard  the  shouts  of  the  men  coming  nearer  and 
nearer.  Once  he  looked  back — he  saw  the  dog  making 
straight  for  the  walk  on  which  he  was  nmning.  AU 
power  went  out  of  his  knees ;  but  remembering  his 
mother,  he  struggled  on ;  he  could  hardly  drag  his  heavy 
legs  after  him,  and  though  he  ran  fast,  he  felt  as  if  he 
could  not  get  on. 

"Mother,  mother — oh,  mother!"  he  called  loud  and 
louder,  but  in  vain ;  his  voice  was  gone,  but  he  heard 
the  men  calling,  "  a  mad  dog — a  mad  dog — out  of  the 
way — out  of  the  way  !"  Frank  made  a  last  effort,  his 
mother  heard,  and  turned;  he  reached,  seized,  drag- 


FRANK.  467 

ged  her  on  to  the  summer-house,  flung  back  the  door, 
and,  quite  exhausted,  fell  senseless  on  the  ground. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  he  did  not  know  wh  re  he 
was  or  what  had  happened.  His  head  was  lying  on 
his  mother's  shoulder,  and  he  heard  her  tender  voice, 
saying,  "  He  is  coming  to  himself." 

"  What  is  the  matter  V  Frank  asked,  as  he  raised 
himself  up,  and  looked  round.  He  saw  that  he  was  in 
the  hall  at  Bellombre,  and  that  his  mother  and  Mr.  Gran- 
ville were  there. 

"  You  feel  better  now,  my  dear  Frank,"  said  his 
mother. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,  mamma ;  only  some  odd 
prickly  feeling." 

He  saw  that  Granville  had  a  glass  of  water  in  his 
hand,  and  he  felt  drops  of  water  on  his  face. 

"  How  comes  this  V  said  he. 

"  You  fainted,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother. 
..    "Did  I,"  said  Frank,  "  how  came  that  ]" 

"  You  ran  too  fast,  my  dear,  for  me.  Are  you  better 
now  r' 

"  I  am  quite  well,  mamma,"  repeated  Frank,  fixing 
his  eyes  on  Granville.     "  But  how  very  kind  you  look  !" 

"  Drink  what  your  mother  is  giving  you,  my  dear 
boy,"  said  Granville. 

"  Dear  boy  .'"  repeated  Frank  to  himself,  putting  away 
the  glass  of  hartshorn  and  water,  he  said,  "  Thank  you, 
mamma,  why  should  I  drink  that  horrible  stuff;  I  do 
not  want  it.  I  am  really  quite  well  now.  What  be- 
came of  the  dog  1  did  he  bite  anybody  T" 

"  No  ;  everybody  is  safe,  you  saved  your  mother,  the 
dog  is  shot,"  said  Granville,  "  and  you  are  a  noble  little 
fellow." 

"  Now  go  to  your  own  room  and  rest  yourself,"  said 
his  mother. 

Frank  went,  and  Granville  followed  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  Spellman  came  to  inquire  how 
Frank  did,  but  the  door  was  not  opened  to  him ;  when 
Lewis  came,  Granville  admitted  him  and  retired,  saying, 

"  He  is  an  older  friend,  1  acknowledge,  perhaps  a 
better ;  but,  Frank,"  added  he,  as  he  left  the  room,  "  if 
ever  again  you  are  surprised  at  my  being  kind  to  you, 
it  shall  be  your  fault,  not  mine." 

Granville,  in  spite  of  his  outward  cold  manner,  had  a 
warm  heart,  and  Frank  had  quite  won  it,  quite  conquer  • 
U  30 


45^  PRANK. 

ed  him,  by  the  proof  of  affection  he  had  given  to  his 
mother,  not  in  words  but  deeds.  He  was  particularly 
pleased  by  Frank's  perfect  simplicity. 

"  It  Wcis  plain  he  did  not  think  he  had  done  any  thing 
extraordinary ;  he  did  not  want  to  have  it  talked  of," 
said  Granville,  in  giving  an  account  of  what  had  passed 
to  Cressingham.  "  No  fal-lal  sentimental  nonsense 
about  it.  The  mother  did  not  say  a  word  too  much, 
and  the  boy  thought  nothing  of  it.  I  like  her,  and  I 
love  Frank — a  nohle  little  fellow.  .1  am  glad  I  am  to 
have  him  at  school.  Any  one  might  be  proud  of  him." 
This  was  a  vast  deal  for  Granville  to  say,  and  to  say 
at  once.  Cressingham,  turning  to  Spellman,  who  was 
standing  listening,  said,  "  You  look  wonderfully  sur*- 
prised,  Mr.  Spellman ;  remember,  I  told  you  that  1  knew 
Granville  belter  than  you  did.  I  was  sore  that  this 
boy's  honest,  independent  character,  would  please  him 
at  last." 

"  Oh,  certainly;  who  ever  doubted  it!"  said  Spellman. 
But,  thought  he,  you  do  not  know  yet  how  matters  will 
end. 

Meantime  Frank  and  Lewis  were,  on  their  part,  talk- 
ing to  each  other  of  what  had  happened,  and  when  Frank 
described  to  his  friend  the  strange  feeling  of  diflSculty 
he  had  in  running,  and  said  his  limbs  felt  heavy,  and 
that  it  was  all  like  a  dream,  this  reminded  Lewis  of 
some  lines  in  Virgil,  of  which  he  repeated  the  transla' 
tion: — 

"  And,  as  whefi  heavy  sleq)  has  clos'd  the  sights 
The  sickly  fancy  labours  in  the  night ; 
We  seem  to  run,  and,  destitute  of  force, 
Our  sinking  limbs  forsake  us  in  the  course  ; 
In  vain  we  heave  for  breath,  in  vain  we  cry, 
The  nerves  unbrac'd  their  usual  strength  deny,  ' 
And  on  the  tongue  the  falt'ring  accents  die<" 

Frank  was  surprised  to  find  that  Virgil  had  thought 
and  felt  as  he  did,  so  many  hundred  years  ago ;  and 
then,  descending  suddenly  from  this  grand  reflection, 
was  very  curious  to  know  what  had  happened  to  the 
mad  dog,  and  where  Lewis  was  standing  when  he  first 
heard  the  cry. 

And  when  all  this  had  been  explained,  Lewis  left 
Frank  alone  to  rest  himself,  but  he  was  not  long  allowed 
to  remain  in  peace.  Spellman  came  softly  into  the 
room,  followed  by  Tom,  whom  he  exhorted  not  to  make 


PRANK.  ^.  499 

any  noise.  Frank  told  them  that  he  was  not  asleep, 
and  that  they  might  talk  as  loud  as  they  pleased.  They 
both  said  they  came  to  see  how  he  did,  and  were  very 
sorry  he  had  been  ill ;  but  they  looked  as  if  that  was 
not  exactly  the  thing  they  came  to  say,  and  as  if  some- 
thing more  important  was  to  follow.  While  Spellman 
was  considering  how  he  should  preface  it  with  some 
nice  bit  of  flattery,  Tom  blurted  out  these  words ;  "  Af- 
ter all,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  go  to  school  with  that 
Lewis,  you  may,  for  any  thing  I  care." 

"  What  do  you  meanT"  cried  Frank,  starting  up. 

"  He  means,"  said  Spellman,  "  that  if  we  could  man- 
age so  as  to  please  all  parties,  it  would  be  a  very  good 
thing  in  this  world;  but  that  cannot  be,  so,  perhaps,  it 
will  not  do,  because  I  could  not  speak  to  Granville  so 
well,  and  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  afraid  to  speak." 

"  Oh,"  interrupted  Frank,  "  do  tell  me  plainly ;  I  am 
not  afraid  to  speak  to  anybody." 

"  If  that's  the  case,  then  you  are  the  properest  person 
to  speak  about  it  to  everybody,  and  don't  mention  my 
name." 

"  1  do  not  want  to  mention  your  name,  indeed,"  said 
Frank ;  "  but  do  tell  me  plainly  what  you  mean." 

"  Why,  then,  the  short  and  the  long  of  it  is,"  said 
Tom,  "  that  if  you  have  a  mind  to  stand  in  my  shoes, 
you  may." 

"  1  have  no  mind  to  stand  in  your  shoes,"  said  Frank. 

"  But  you  have  a  mind  to  go  to  school  with  Lewis, 
have  not  you?"  said  Spellman. 

"  You  know  I  have,"  said  Frank,  impatiently;  "  I  told 
you  so  ;  why  should  you  ask  me  again?" 

"  Because,  if  you  are  quite  sure  of  that,  I  can  sljow 
you  how  it  can  be  done,"  said  Spellman. 

"  Can  you?  Oh,  show  me  !"  cried  Frank. 

Spellman  said  that  he  had  found  out  that  it  had  been 
just  decided  that  Tom  was  going  to  the  same  school 
with  Lewis;  that  it  was  his  place  that  Frank  might 
have  filled ;  but  that,  though  Tom's  uncle  had  settled 
this,  it  could  be  easily  changed,  as  Tom's  mother  would 
do  any  thing  to  please  her  son ;  and  besides,  now  that 
she  had  been  at  Bellombre  and  had  seen  Mr.  Granville, 
she  would  like  particularly  that  Tom  should  go  to  Mr. 
Granville's  school.  In  short,  it  could  be  done  if  Frank 
pleased. 

Jf  Frank  pleased !  Frank  was  overjoyed.    He  could 
U2 


4B0  FRANK. 

hardly  stay  to  hear  how  it  was  to  be  done,  he  was  ih 
such  a  hurry  to  run  three  different  ways,  to  his  father, 
mother,  Lewis,  to  tell  the  delightful  news.  Spellman 
held  him  to  express  fears  that  his  father  and  mother 
would  be  afraid  to  offend  Mr.  Granville  ;  and  again  beg- 
ged that  his  own  name  might  not  be  mentioned.  "  Can- 
not you  say  that  it  came  into  your  own  head  1  Stay 
one  minute,  and  we  can  settle  how  to  manage  it  prop- 
erly." 

Frank  said  the  properest  way  was  to  go  straight  to 
his  father  and  mother,  and  he  would  say  nothing  but 
the  plain  truth;  he  would  have  no  underhand  doings ; 
he  did  not  know  what  Spellman  was  about,  but  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  if  he  might  not  do  it 
openly. 

Spellman  let  him  go,  and  put  the  letter  which  Mrs. 

J had  written  into  his  hands,  with  which  Frank  ran 

off  directly  to  his  mother. 

As  he  ran  full  speed  along  the  gallery,  he  met  Lewis 
and  Granville,  for  the  first  time,  walking  together. 

"  How  now !"  said  Granville ;  "  I  thought  you  were 
resting  yourself,  Frank." 

"  I  want  no  rest,"  said  Frank ;  "  I  can  have  none  till 
I  have  settled  this.  Oh,  come  with  me,  both  of  you,  I 
%vant  you  both,  my  dear  friends.  May  I  call  you  friend?" 
said  he,  looking  up  at  Granville. 

"You  may,"  said  Granville,  "now  and  for  life." 

"  But  perhaps  I  may  offend  you,  and  I  should  be  sorry 
to  offend  you  again,"  said  Frank,  pausing. 

Granville  coloured,  but,  struggling  with  himself,  said, 
"  I  shall  not  be  offended  without  cause  again." 

V  Then  come  with  me,"  said  Frank,  "  this  moment  to 
my  father  and  mother,  and  you  shall  hear  all  I  have  to 
say." 

They  accompanied  him,  curious  to  know  what  it  was 
that  he  had  to  say.  In  Frank's  straightforward  way 
the  case  was  stated  in  a  few  words ;  and  to  the  honour 
of  Granville  be  it  recorded,  that  he  was  not  offended : 
on  the  contrary,  the  courageous  truth  which  Frank 
showed,  fixed  his  esteem,  and  roused  the  best  parts  of 
his  own  character;  he  stood  in  silence  while  the  expla- 
nations were  making,  and  till  the  business  was  com- 
pletely settled ;  then  holding  out  his  hand  to  Frank  in 
a  friendly,  not  a  protecting  manner,  he  said,  "  Frank,  I 
am  sorry  not  to  have  you  at  school ;  but  promise  rae, 


FRANK.  A&t 

both  of  you,"  said  he,  looking  at  Lewis,  "  that  you  will 
come  to  Bellombre  in  the  holydays,  and  you  will  always 
find  in  me  a  friend." 

Frank  jumped  up,  threw  his  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
thanked  him  with  all  his  might. 

Mrs.  J 's  letter  to  the  master  of  the  school  was  much 

too  full  of  compliments,  apologies,  and  parentheses  for 
Frank  to  comprehend ;  he  gave  it  up,  saying  it  was  his 
mother's  business  to  make  it  out ;  and  while  she  was 
doing  so,  he  ran  in  search  of  Mary,  made  his  way  into 
a  part  of  the  house  which  he  had  never  before  entered, 
even  to  the  sacred  apartment  of  the  governess,  where, 
full  in  the  midst  he  stood,  and  seizing  upon  Mary,  carried 
her  off,  begging  Mademoiselle  de  Cambrai's  pardon,  and 
declaring  that  he  had  something  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance to  tell  her. 

"  Now  guess,"  said  he,  when  he  had  her  in  the  pas- 
sage, "  guess  whether  it  is  bad  or  good." 

"  Good,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mary, "  you  need  not  pretend 
to  look  grave.  What  is  it,  something  about  the  engi- 
neer?" 

"  Better,"  said  Frank. 

"  Better,  what  can  that  be  1"  cried  Mary. 

"I  cannot  stay  for  you  to  guess  any  more,"  said 
Frank ;  "  I  am  to  go  with  Lewis." 

Mary  could  hardly  believe  it ;  her  joy  was  as  great  as 
Frank's.  He  sent  her  down  to  his  mother's  room,  where 
he  told  her  she  would  be  made  to  understand  how  it  was 
all  brought  about ;  and  in  the  fullness  and  benevolence 
of  his  own  joy,  taking  every  creature  in,  of  every  kind, 
lie  went  in  search  of  Spellman,  to  tell  him  that  the  whole 
business  was  settled,  and  that  Granville  was  not  offend- 
ed. This  last  part  of  the  intelligence  Spellman  could 
hardly  believe,  nor  did  it  seem  to  give  him  complete 
satisfaction,  even  when  at  tast  he  was  convinced  of  it 
by  seeing  and  speaking  to  Granville  himself;  it  was  in 
vain  for  Frank  to  attempt  to  understand  Spellman,  he 

gave  that  up  along  with  Mrs.  J 's  letter.     A  straight 

and  a  crooked  mind  can  never  agree. 

"  What  is  it  you  are  dissatisfied  with  still  V  said 
Frank.  "  Now  you  see  that  Granville  is  not  displeased 
with  you,  or  with  me,  or  with  anybody,  and  that  Tom  is 
to  go  to  the  school  you  wished,  and  with  Granville — is 
not  this  all  you  want  ■?    I  am  sure  it  is  all  I  want." 

Spellman  said,  ♦'  Oh !  yes,  he  was  perfectly  ^atjsfiedi" 
39* 


462  FRANK. 

But,  in  fact,  he  was  far  from  being  satisfied;  he  had 
expected  that  Granville  would  have  been  very  angry 
with  Frank,  and  he  had  hoped  to  have  turned  this  anger 
to  his  own  purposes.  Tom's  going  to  the  same  school 
with  Granville  would  be  nothing  gained,  unless  he  had 
the  honour  of  being  fag  to  Granville,  and  under  his  pro- 
tection. This  was  the  point  at  which  Spellman  was 
aiming  for  his  cousin,  and  of  which  Mrs.  J was  ambi- 
tious. Mr.  Granville  was  known  to  be  very  generous  to 
his  hangers-on ;  he  always  used  to  invite  little  Drake  to 
Bellombre  in  the  holydays ;  he  would  certainly,  it  was 

supposed  do  as  much  for  Tom.     And  Mrs.  J fancied 

that  this  must  in  time  lead  to  an  intimacy  between  her- 
self and  Lady  Chepstow ;  and  besides  the  Chepstow  fam- 
ily would,  she  was  confident,  provide  in  future  for  Tom, 
by  their  powerful  patronage,  if  once  they  should  take  him 
under  their  protection.  One  thing,  however,  appeared 
quite  clear,  that  Lady  Chepstow's  dislike  to  Tom's 
vulgar  manners  had  not  diminished  since  she  had  seen 
more  of  him ;  his  habits  of  idleness,  and  the  impossibil- 
ity of  amusing  him  long  with  any  thing :  in  short,  all 
the  faults  of  a  spoiled  child,  and  of  an  ill-bred  school- 
boy combined,  had  increased  her  aversion.'  Yet  still, 
from  day  to  day,  he  was  at  Bellombre,  "  upon  sufferance, 
for  poor  Spellman's  sake,"  as  her  ladyship  said.  And 
Spellman  was  meanly  satisfied  to  see  his  cousin  in  this 
manner  just  endured.  He  had  done  imprudently  to  bring 
him  into  any  degree  of  comparison  with  Frank;  he  felt 
it  too  late.  Notwithstanding  this  mistake,  however,  and 
the  unexpected  turn  which  things  had  last  taken,  Spell- 
man trusted  much  to  his  powers  of  flattery,  and  to  that 
habitual  influence  which,  mixed,  as  he  was  content  that 
it  should  be,  with  contempt,  he  knew  he  possessed  over 
Granville's  mind.  Granville  had  penetration  enough  to 
see  now  plainly  what  had  been  the  cause  of  Spellman's 
great  anxiety  to  bring  and  keep  this  boy  at  Bellombre, 
yet  there  was  something  gratifying  to  pride  in  the  pains 
which  had  been  taken  to  gain  this  object.  It  is  now 
settled,  said  Granville  to  himself,  that  this  cousin  Tom 
of  Spellman's  is  to  go  to  the  same  school  with  me ;  and 
as  there  is  a  place  in  the  carriage  between  me  and  Cres- 
singham,  why  should  not  I  gratify  poor  Spellman,  and 
take  him  with  me  1  If  he  does  not  do  me  credit  at  school 
afterward,  I  am  not  bound  to  take  any  more  notice  of 
him,  or  ever  to  ask  him  again  to  Bellombre.    But  I  can- 


FRANK.  463 

not  refuse  poor  Spellman  to  take  his  cousin,  though 
Tom  is  such  a  vulgar  boy. 

Spellman  saw  the  waverings  of  his  young  patron's 
mind,  and  had  now  good  hopes  of  gaining  his  point. 
Never  in  his  life  did  he  take  more  pains  to  study  Gran- 
ville's humour,  or  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  all  par- 
ties. 

In  order  to  obtain  Frank's  good  word  for  his  cousin, 
he  tutored  Tom  to  make  him  civil,  but  he  tutored  in 
vain ;  he  worshipped  Frank,  but  he  worshipped  in  vain. 


The  day  for  the  departure  of  Frank's  father  and  mother 
from  Bellombre  had  now  arrived.  Everybody  in  the 
house  was  sorry  that  they  were  going ;  everybody  except 
Spellman  and  Tom.  Tom  did  not  trouble  himself  even 
to  pretend  to  be  sorry,  but  Spellman  pulled  down  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  and  endeavoured  to  look  sad. 
Superfluous  hypocrisy !  for  Frank  did  not  see  or  care 
how  he  looked.  Spellman  followed  him  about  the  room, 
and  at  last,  finding  a  moment  when  nobody  could  hear 
him,  said  he  had  one  great  favour  to  beg  of  Frank. 

"What  favour  can  you  have  to  beg  of  me?"  said 
Frank. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Spellman. 

"  Quick  then,  for  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"  Directly,"  said  Spellman ;  but  he  never  could  tell 
any  thing,  much  less  ask  a  favour  directly  ;  so  he  went 
back  several  steps.  "  You  know,  Frank,"  said  he,  "  at 
least  I  know,  if  your  modesty  does  not  allow  you  to 
believe  it,  that  you  are  such  a  favourite  now  with 
Mr.  Granville,  that  he  would  not  refuse  any  thing  you 
ask.  Now,  you  would  do  me  the  greatest  favour  in  the 
world,  which  I  should  never  forget  to  my  dying  day, 
and  I'd  do  as  much  for  you,  if  you  would  ask  him  one 
thing." 

"Whatl"  said  Frank. 

"  You  know  he  would  rather  have  you  for  his  fag  a 
thousand  times  than  poor  Tom." 

"  I  know,"  said  Frank. 

"  But,  as  he  cannot  have  you,  will  you  ask  him  now 
to  take  Tom  in  his  carriage  to  school  with  him,  properly 
under  his  protection  t" 

No;  Frank  said  he  could  not  ask  any  such  thing ;  that 


464  FRANK. 

Mr.  Granville  must  judge  for  himself,  and  do  as  he 
pleased. 

"  Then  you  are  not  the  good-natured  boy  I  took  you 
for,"  said  Spellman. 

Perhaps  I  am  not  the  weak  boy  you  took  me  for, 
thought  Frank. 

"  Then  you  will  see  I  shall  get  it  done  without  your 
assistance,"  said  Spellman. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Frank,  "  and  I 
shall  not  meddle  with  it,  one  way  or  the  other— my 
friend  Lewis  advised  me  not." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  your  friend  Lewis,  indeed," 
said  Spellman.  "  1  knew  it  was  not  your  own  thought 
•—I  knew  you  were  too  good-natured — ^you  will  do  it  at 
last,  I  am  sure." 

"  No,  I  cannot,"  repeated  Frank. 

"  But  why  not  ^ — Why  won't  you  speak  for  Tom  ? — 
If  he  has  ever  oftended  you,  I'll  make  him  beg  your  par- 
don." 

"  He  has  not  offended  me ;  he  has  never  offended  me, 
and  I  do  not  want  him  to  beg  my  pardon." 

*'  But  why  don't  you  like  him  ]"  said  Spellman. 

"  Because — I  cannot  tell  you  ;  he  is  your  cousin,  and 
it  would  not  be  civil  to  tell  you ;  let  me  go,"  said  he, 
turning  away,  disgusted  by  Spelhnan's  meanness;  "  there 
is  our  carriage  come  to  the  door,  and  I  must  go  and  call 
IVIary."  The  whole  family  had  collected  in  the  library ; 
and  some  were  expressing  regrets,  and  others  were 
hoping  they  should  meet  again,  and  some  were  return- 
ing books  they  had  borrowed ;  some  were  searching  for 
books  that  were  to  be  lent  to  the  parting  guests ;  some 
were  looking  in  portfolios,  and  others  were  sending  to 
the  gardener  for  cuttings  and  layers,  which  (weU  pack- 
ed) must  be  put  into  the  carriage. 

"  Oh !  my  yellow  rose  that  Mr.  Berkeley  promised 
me,"  cried  Mary,  "  I  am  afraid  my  yellow  rose-tree 
has  not  come." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Frank,  "  for  mamma  said  that  if 
it  was  taken  up  at  this  time  of  year,  it  would  not  live ; 
and  if  it  did  live  it  is  ten  to  one  that  it  would  never 
blow." 

"  But  it  blows  beautifully  in  Mr.  Berkeley's  garden, 
^d  why  should  not  it  blow  in  mine  ?  Pray,  mamma, 
inquire,  will  you,  whether  it  is  come  ?" 

J{i(juiries  were  made,  no  rose-tree  had  come  for  Miss 


PRANK.  4^5 

Mary ;  but  everybody  said  that  if  Mr.  Berkeley  had 
promised  it,  it  would  certainly  arrive,  for  he  never  for- 
got any  thing  he  promised. 

Some  thought  that  Mr.  Berkeley  had  not  yet  returned 
home;  but  one  of  the. servants  had  seen  him  coming 
home  late  last  night.  Frank  then  was  eager  to  run  to 
bid  him  farewell,  but  Mary  begged  that  they  might  wait ; 
she  was  sure  that  Mr.  Berkeley  would  come  to  take 
leave  of  them. 

"  And  here  he  is,"  said  Frank,  who  was  at  the  win- 
dow ;  "  he  is  coming  up  the  shrubbery- waJk  that  leads 
from  the  vicarage — I  saw  hini,  and  you  will  see  him 
just  now.  Here  he  is,  but  without  the  rose-tree  in  his 
hand ;  yet  he  has  something  else  that  you  will  like,  I 
think,"  added  Frank,  significantly. 

Tom  now  jumped  up,  exclaiming,  "  I'll  bet  a  crown 
it's  a  hare  ;  our  parson  brings  a  hare  often  ;  but,'"  look- 
ing out  of  the  window,  he  added,  "  no  such  good  thing ; 
it's  only  a  stupid  portfolio." 

As  Mr.  Berkeley  drew  nearer,  Tom  saw  his  face,  and 
said  to  Spellman, 

"  That  man  is  very  like  somebody,  I  am  sure,  I  have 
seen  before  somewhere." 

"  Did  not  you  see  him  at  church  last  Sunday  1"  said 
Spellman. 

•  "  How  could  I,  when  I  was  not'  there  V  said  Tom, 
keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Mr.  Berkeley,  who  was 
coming  up  the  steps.  The  moment  he  entered  the 
room,  Tom  hid  himself  behind  a  pillar ;  there  he  watch- 
ed an  opportunity  to  get  out  of  the  room,  but  Lady 
Chepstow  was  in  the  way,  and  he  dared  not  cross  her 
path.  Nobody  observed  him ;  all  were  happily  intent 
upon  Mr.  Berkeley  and  the  portfolio.  In  the  portfolio 
was  a  drawing,  which  one  of  his  obliging  daughters  had 
made,  of  the  print  which  Frank  and  Lewis  had  so  much 
admired,  and  which  Mr.  Berkeley  begged  Frank  to  ac- 
cept. Lady  Chepstow  desired  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  the  drawing,  and  everybody  gathered  round  to 
look  at  it.  Everybody  except  Tom,  who,  thinking  this 
a  good  time  for  escaping  out  of  the  room,  made  an  ef- 
fort to  get  to  the  door,  pushing  by  Mr.  Granville  so 
rudely  that  Spellman  caught  his  arm,  saying, 

"  How  can  you  push  so,  Tom  1  and  why  cannot  you 
come  and  look  at  this  beautiful  drawing,  like  Frank  and 
everybody  else!" 

U  3 


466  PRANK. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  it,"  said  Tom ;  "  I  want  to  see 
the  horses  at  the  door." 

Tom  struggled  and  kicked  Spellman's  shins,  who  let 
him  go,  fearing  Lady  Chepstow  would  see  this  outrage. 
"  Tom  will  be  quite  another  creature,  I  expect,"  said 
Spellman,  "  when  he  has  been  at  a  good  school,  and  un- 
der your  protection  for  a  year." 

"  You  expect  wonders,"  said  Granville,  half  smiling. 

Granville  left  Spellman,  and  stood  behind  Frank, 
looking  over  his  head  at  the  drawing. 

Lady  Chepstow  made  some  observations  at  this  in- 
stant which  could  not  be  distinctly  heard,  because  the 
horses,  which  were  at  the  door,  and  which  till  now  had 
stood  perfectly  still,  were  growing  very  restless.  Look- 
ing out  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  her  ladyship  descri- 
ed Tom,  who  had  scrambled  up  upon  the  coach-box,  and 
was  kicking  his  feet,  in  despite  of  the  coachman,  against 
the  foot-board. 

"  Do,  somebody — yes,  Spellman,  that's  a  good  crea- 
ture, do  take  that  boy  down,  will  you,"  said  Lady  Chep- 
stow ;  "  or,"  added  she,  as  Spellman  left  the  room,  "  we 
shall  have  that  boy's  neck  broken  at  Bellorabre,  and  he 
had  better  break  it  somewhere  else." 

Mr.  Berkeley  now  looked  out  of  the  window,  as  oth- 
ers did,  at  the  taking  down  of  Tom,  who  called  out  that 
he  would  not  come  down,  and  that  he  would  do  as  he 
hked.     "  I  recollect  that  voice,"  said  Mr.  Berkeley. 

"It  is  not,  indeed,  a  voice  to  be  forgotten,"  said  Lady 
Chepstow. 

Tom,  who  was  now  standing  near  the  window,  look- 
ed up,  and  seeing  Mr.  Berkeley,  who  bowed  to  him,  and 
was  beginning  to  speak  to  him,  he  straight  turned  his 
back,  pretending  not  to  hear. 

Granville  called  to  him,  and  said,  in  a  stem  voice, 
*'  Don't  you  hear  Mr.  Berkeley  speaking  to  you  1" 

Spellman  turned  Tom's  face  again  to  the  window,  and 
held  him  by  the  shoulders,  telling  him  he  must  not  be 
so  bashful,  he  must  not  run  away,  he  must  behave  civ- 
illy, and  answer  when  he  was  spoken  to. 

'?  He  can't  be  speaking  to  me,"  said  Tom.  "  Let  me 
go,  cousin  Spellman,  I  don't  know  him." 

"I  am  not  surprised,"  said  Mr.  Berkeley,  mildly,  "that 
the  young  gentleman  does  not  recollect  me,  for  the  only 
|ime  that  I  ever  saw  him  was  nearly  a  year  ago ;  and 
then  he  was  stunned  by  a  terrible  fall  from  his  hoTse. . 


pRANfi;  '  467 

You  do  not  then  remember  my  taking  you  up  from  the 
bank,  do  you,  young  gentleman?"  said  ne,  again  speak- 
ing to  him  from  the  open  window. 

"Not  I,"  said  Tom,  still  struggling  to  get  away;  "I 
don't  femefnber  any  thing  about  it." 

"  Do  not  detain  him,"  said  Mr.  Berkeley ;  "he  seems 
to  be  terribly  afraid  of  me,  I  don't  know  why ;  I  was 
merely  going  to  ask  whether  his  horse  had  recovered 
from  his  sprain." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom,  bursting  away  from  Spell- 
man,  and  making  off  toward  the  stables. 
.   "  It  is  only  bashfulness,"  said  Spellman,  pursuing  him^ 

"Brutal  bashfulness!"  said  Lady  Chepstow. 

"  Depend  upon  it,  this  is  not  pure  bashfulness,"  said 
Granville. 

"  Frank,  what  were  you  going  to  say  ?  you  look  very 
eager,  and  yet  very  doubtful,"  said  Cressingham. 

"  Because  I  believe,  but  I  am  not  sure,  sir,"  said 
Frank,  turning  to  Mr.  Berkeley,  "  that  the  horse  of 
which  you  were  speaking  is  mine.  Was  it  pretty  i  was 
it  black  ?    Was  its  name  Felix  V 

"  Whether  it  was  pretty,  I  can't  say,"  replied  Mr* 
Berkeley.  "  It  was  black,  I  recollect,  but  I  cannot  tell 
Whether  its  name  was  FNslix ;  its  shoulder  was  sadly 
sprained." 

"  Sprained  its  shoulder !  Oh,  then  it  was  poor  Felix,'* 
cried  Frank  and  Mary. 

"  Thank  you  for  recollecting  and  asking  for  him,  sir," 
said  Frank  j  "  he  is  quite  well.  Did  you  see  him  fall) 
sir?" 

"  I  did,"  said  Mr.  Berkeley. 

"  How  extraordinary,  mamma,  that  Mt.-  Berkeley 
should  see  it,"  said  Mary. 

"  Not  very  extraordinary,"  said  Mr.  Berkeley.  **  I 
happened  to  be  at  the  door  of  a  cottage,  where  I  had 
been  visiting  one  of  my  poor  parishioners  in  a  remote 
place." 

"  In  a  lane  near  a  pool  of  water,  with  flat  stepping- 
stones,  was  it  not  V  said  Frank. 

"  Just  so,"  said  Mr.  Berkeley. 

"  Now  I  know  the  reason,  papa,  why  Felix  was  so 
frightened  at  the  sight  of  those  stones  the  day  we  led 
him  home ;  but,  sir,"  continued  Frank,  returning  to  Mr. 
Berkeley,  "  will  you  tell  me,  for  I  never  beard  exactly 
how  it  was." 


468  FBAKK.  / 

"  I  was  at  the  cottage  of  a  poor  woman,  who  lives  m 
a  lane  near  the  common,  and  I  saw  this  young  gentle- 
man and  his  servant  galloping  across  the  common." 

"  Galloping !"  repeated  Frank,  with  astonishment,  look- 
ing at  Mary,  and  his  father,  and  mother,  by  turns. 

"  Do  not  interrupt,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother. 

•'  He  was  certainly  galloping  when  I  saw  him,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Berkeley,  "  and  as  violently  as  be  could  go. 
He,  and  the  man  with  him,  seemed  to  be  running  races ; 
he  was  foremost,  and  leaped  his  horse  through  a  gap  in 
the  hedge  into  the  lane  ;  the  horse  came  on  the  step- 
ping-stones, slipped,  and  fell,  and  threw  his  rider  on  the 
opposite  bank ;  the  horse  sprained  his  shoulder  terribly ; 
providentially  the  young  gentleman  was  unhurt.  1  took 
him  up,  and  gave  him  what  assistance  I  could,  but  he 
says  he  does  not  recollect  me." 

Frank  and  Mary  looked  at  one  another  again,  and 
stood  silent,  quite  shocked  by  this  discovery  of  Tom's 
falsehood. 

"  But,  papa,  he  certainly  said  he  was  trotting  the 
horse,  and  trotting  very  gently,  did  not  he  ?"  said  Frank, 
at  last  breaking  silence. 

"  Yes,  and  his  mother's  note  said  so,  and  the  groom 
said  so,  if  I  recollect,"  said  Mary ;  "  and,  you  know,  he 
promised  upon  bis  word  that  he  would  go  gently." 

"  I  believe  we  had  better  say  no  more  about  it,"  said 
Frank. 

"  But  I  must  beg  you  will  say  more,  and  make  me  un- 
derstand all  this,"  said  Granville.  "  Before  I  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  this  boy,  I  must  know  distinctly  what 
he  is." 

"  Do  not  you  see  what  he  is  ?  is  not  his  manner 
enough  T"  said  Lady  Chepstow. 

"  No,  mother,  I  would  not  condemn  a  boy,  or  give 
him  up  merely  for  his  manner.  There  is  a  great  differ- 
ence, I  hope,  between  bad  manners  and  bad  principles." 

Frank's  father  strongly  agreed  in  this,  and  thinking 
that  the  whole  truth  ought  to  be  known  to  Mr.  Gran- 
ville, he  related  the  circumstances. 

"  What !  did  he  break  his  promise,  and  tell  a  lie  ?  I 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,"  said  Granville. 

"  That  is  right — send  him  home  directly,  pray,  Hor- 
ace," said  Lady  Chepstow,  "  before  we  part  with  our 
friends,  else  I  shall  have  him,  when  we  are  alone,  com- 


PRANK.  469 

praying  to  me,  and  crying,  no  doubt. 
Send  him  off  this  minute,  Horace." 

Granville  left  the  room,  and  went  to  obey  his  mother's 
orders. 

He  found  Tom  and  Spellman  at  the  stable-door, 
Spellman  still  arguing  with  him,  and  he  struggling  and 
kicking  against  the  door,  and  crying  that  he  would  go 
home  to  his  mother. 

"  Yes,  Spellman,  send  him  home  this  minute,"  said 
Granville — "  it  must  be  so." 

Spellman  stood  astonished,  while  Granville  ordered 
a  servant  to  bring  out  Master  Tom's  horse,  and  to  call 
his  groom  to  go  with  him  directly. 

Tom  stood  still,  and  looked  much  alarmed. 

"  Surely,  my  dear  Horace,  you  would  not  send  my 
cousin  off  in  this  way!"  Spellman  began,  as  he  led 
Granville  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  servants. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  my  dear  Spellman,"  said 
Granville,  "  but  it  must  be  so.  You  shall  hear  the  facts, 
and  judge." 

Spellman  heard  the  whole,  but  endeavoured  to  ex- 
cuse Tom,  which  displ-eased  Granville  exceedingly. 

"  You  cannot  excuse  such  falsehood,  Spellman,  I 
hope  ?" 

"  He  is  my  cousin,  consider,"  said  Spellman,  '*  and  so 
young,  and  so  spoiled  as  he  has  been." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  but  that  is  not  my  fault." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Horace,  for  my  sake  consider  my 
cousin,  my  own  cousin !"  said  Spellman. 

"  If  he  were  forty  times  your  cousin  I  can  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  him,"  said  Granville,  steadily ;  "  besides, 
my  mother  desires  that  he  should  go." 

"But  if  he  must  go  now,"  said  Spellman,  "  say  noth- 
ing about  it,  will  you  T  or  the  poor  boy  is  ruined  for 
ever." 

"  I  will  never  say  a  word  about  him.  I  am  sorry  for 
you,  Spellman,"  repeated  Granville,  "  but  I  wonder  you 
could  defend  such  conduct." 

"  I !  I  don't  defend  it.  I  think  it's  horrible.  Only  I 
know  how  he  has  been  spoiled  at  home,  and  at  that  de- 
testable school;  and  I  am  sure  that  when  he  is  at 
another  school,  and  if  he  was  under  your  eye,  he  would 
become  quite  another  creature." 

As  Granville  was  silent,  Spellman  continued  in  his 
most  supplicating  and  flattering  tone — "I  know  he 
40 


470  FRANK. 

would  become  so  fond  of  you,  be  would  be  so  attached 
to  you ;  though  nobody  else  could  manage  him,  I  know 
you  could  do  any  thing  you  pleased  with  him  by  a  word. 
1  know  by  myself  what  power  you  have.    I  know — " 

"  Do  not  flatter  me  any  more,  Spellman,"  said  Gran- 
ville. 

Spellman  stopped  short,  and  looked  at  Granville,  as 
if  he  was  not  sure  he  had  heard  rightly. 

"  1  flatter  I  and  flatter  you !" 

"  Yes,  you  flatter  me." 

Spellman,  protesting  he  never  flattered,  took  Mr. 
Granville's  arm,  and  walking  on,  began  to  reurge  his 
suit  in  favour  of  his  cousin.  "  If  you  would  say  a  word 
to  Lady  Chepstow,  you  are  all  powerful,  you  would  save 
my  cousin  from  this  disgrace." 

"Don't  urge  farther;  I  cannot,  Spellman." 

Spellman,  however,  observing  what  reluctance  Gran- 
ville felt  to  disoblige  him,  thought  that  if  he  pushed  the 
matter  boldly  to  the  utmost,  that  he  should  succeed. 
He  withdrew  his  arm  suddenly  from  Granville's,  ex- 
claiming, in  a  high  tone,  that  he  felt  himself  ill-used ; 
that  he  had  feelings  as  well  as  Mr.  Granville,  and  pride 
of  his  own  too :  that  he  could  not  bear  to  see  his  near 
relation  so  treated  ;  disgracefully  packed  off:  he  could 
not  justify  it  to  his  conscience  to  stand  by  and  see  it 
done  :  that,  well  as  he  loved  Mr.  Granville,  if  Mr.  Gran- 
ville persisted  in  sending  his  cousin  away,  without  say- 
ing a  word  to  save  him,  he  could  not  longer  look  upon 
him  as  his  friend.  He  confessed  this  was  not  his  idea 
of  a  friend.  In  short,  if  his  cousin  was  sent  away  frona 
Bellombre,  he  would  go  along  with  him,  he  was  deter- 
mined. 

Granville  stood  silent,  and  Spellman,  seeing  signs  of 
strong  emotion  in  his  countenance,  fancied  he  would 
yield  if  he  pushed  the  matter  to  extremity ;  so,  turning 
abruptly,  and  imitating,  as  well  as  he  could,  Granville's 
own  decided  tone  and  manner,  he  called  to  one  of  the 
servants  in  the  yard,  and  ordered  that  his  horse  should 
be  saddled  as  well  as  Mr.  Tom's. 

"  Spellman,  you  are  in  a  passion ;  I  will  give  you  time 
to  cool.  You  had  better  not  go,"  said  GraaviUe,  leaving 
him.  Spellman  was  not  in  a  passion ;  he  only  pretended 
to  be  indignant,  to  w^ork  upon  his  friend's  real  feelings. 
With  all  his  art,  as  Cressingham  told  him,  he  did  ni^' 
know  that  friend  well:   he  knew  jdl  the  weaknesses. 


PRANK. 


■m 


but  none  of  the  strength  of  his  character.  He  fancied 
that  Granville  could  not  live  without  him  and  flattery. 
He  thought  that  his  quitting  Bellombre  would  produce 
a  great  effect,  and  that  he  and  his  cousin  would  be  re- 
called in  a  few  days.  He  mounted  his  horse  in  a  finely 
acted  passion,  bowing  to  Granville  as  he  passed  the 
windows ;  observed  that  he  looked  astonished,  and  saw, 
or  thought  he  saw,  that  Granville  beckoned  to  him,  au- 
gured well  of  his  weakness  from  this,  galloped  on, 
passed  the  gate,  and  never,  we  hope,  was  recalled  to 
Bellombre. 


All  this  while  the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  the 
horses,  who  had  been  standing  still  against  their  will  an 
unconscionable  time,  now  pricked  up  their  ears  on  hear- 
ing the  step  of  the  carriage  let  down.  But  they  were 
yet  to  wait,  while,  after  everybody  else  had  got  into 
the  carriage,  Frank  was  detained  on  the  steps  by  each, 
individual  of  the  house  of  Bellombre,  to  wish  him  a 
fresh  good-by,  and  who  held  him  back  while  they  re- 
peated their  desire  to  see  him  again  whenever  his  father 
and  mother  could  bring  him. 

"  He  has  promised  me,  and  that  is  enough,"  said 
Granville.  "  I  am  sure  of  him,  and  I  hope  he  is  sure 
of  me." 

"  Quite,  thank  you,"  said  Frank. 

"  And,  Frank,  stay  one  minute — one  thing  more  I  will 
promise  you,"  said  Granville,  "  that  the  next  time  you 
come  to  Bellombre,  you  shall  not,  if  I  can  prevent  it, 
meet  any  tormentors." 

"  Nor  any  flatterers  either,  if  I  can  prevent  it,"  said 
Cressingham.  "  Pray  tell  me,  Frank,"  said  he,  laying 
his  hand  on  the  carriage-door,  "  if  you  were  forced  to 
choose  between  them,  which  would  you  rather  have, 
the  tormentors  or  the  flatterer  V 

"  The  tormentors,  to  be  sure,"  said  Frank ;  "  they  did 
me  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  1  grew  used  to  their  teas  • 
ing  at  last,  but  the  flatterer  never  did  me  any  good." 

"  Right,"  said  Cressingham. 

Granville  gave  his  last  approving  nod,  and  they  de- 
parted. 

The  weather  was  fine,  and  the  drive  home  was  de- 
lightful, even  though  it  was  not  a  new  way.    Mary, 


472  FRANK. 

especially  enjoyed  it;  for  it  had  seemed  to  her  very 
long  since  they  had  been  all  together.  Now  she  could 
hear  Frank's  thoughts  and  feelings  about  every  thing 
and  every  person  they  had  seen  at  Bellombre;  but 
chiefly  she  was  interested  in  hearing  that  his  father  and 
mother  were  quite  satisfied  with  him,  that  they  thought 
he  had  borne  all  his  little  trials  better  than  they  could 
have  expected,  and  that  he  had  been  improved  by  them 
in  the  strength  of  mind  which  would  be  necessary  for 
him  at  school. 

Boys,  even  at  Frank's  early  age,  as  his  father  ob- 
served, begin  to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  character  for 
themselves,  and  Frank  had  now  begun  well ;  he  had 
raised  in  the  minds  of  some  of  those  who  were  to  be 
his  future  companions  in  life,  good  expectations  of  his 
temper,  truth,  and  honourable  principles,  he  had  won 
the  regard  of  two  new  friends,  and  had  increased  the 
esteem  and  affection  of  his  friend  Lewis,  to  whom  he 
had  proved  that  he  was  sincerely  and  steadily  attached ; 
his  mother  had  been  particularly  pleased  by  observing 
that  Frank  had  not  betrayed  much  of  that  foolish  vanity, 
which  she  had  dreaded  as  the  foible  of  his  mind.  Mary 
was  silent,  and  happy  in  silence,  as  long  as  these  re- 
marks on  Frank's  conduct  and  character  lasted;  but, 
from  the  moment  his  praises  ceased,  she  began  to  talk, 
and  the  conversation  was  kept  up  between  the  young 
people  with  that  unceasing  flow  of  spirits,  which  the 
prospect  of  returning  home  and  to  their  usual  happy 
ways  naturally  excited. 

The  first  creature  they  ran  to  see  was  their  good  Mrs. 
Catharine. 

After  she  had  kissed  Mary,  she  held  out  her  arms  to 
Frank. 

♦'  What !  and  you  too  ! — Do  you  come  back  to  me," 
said  she,  "  just  such  as  you  went  1 — I  had  expected  you 
would  have  been  a  fine  young  gentleman  after  your 
visit  to  Bellombre,  and  too  grand  to  come  to  my  room 
to  see  your  old  nurse." 

"  You  expected  very  wrong  then,"  said  Frank,  "  but 
I  do  not  believe  you  are  in  earnest,  else  1  know  how  I 
could  punish  you.  Look,  here  are  your  spectacles 
mended  for  you;  you  thought  I  should  forget  them,  but 
you  see  you  were  mistaken  in  that,  too ;  and,  to  save 
yourself  the  trouble  of  stooping  again,  you  may  give 
me  another  kiss,  for  the  prettiest  tortoise-shell  kitteij 


FRANK. 


47^ 


you  ever  saw  in  your  life,  which  you  are  to  have  on 

Monday." 

The  expectation  of  the  hew  tortoise-shell  favourite 
kept  Mrs.  Catharine  from  being  quite  overpowered  by 
the  news  that  Frank  was  certainly  to  go  to  school  on 
the  Monday  following. 

Frank's  next  care  was  so  to  arrange  their  affairs  du- 
ring this  last  week,  that  they  should  be  as  much  with 
Mary  as  possible.  Lewis  and  he  agreed  that  they  would 
take  only  short  rides,  so  that  they  might  always  return 
by  the  time  that  she  had  finished  her  lessons.  They 
were  the  more  anxious  to  be  kind  to  her,  because  she 
was  so  careful  not  to  be  any  trouble  or  restraint  to 
them  ;  she  even  begged  that  they  would  do  what  they 
liked  best  about  riding,  and  that  they  would  not  return 
on  purpose  to  walk  with  her. 

"  For,"  said  she,  "  you  know  I  must  soon  learn  to  be 
quite  alone  when  Frank  goes  to  school,  and  it's  better 
for  me  to  learn  by  degrees :  this  is  what  I  often  used 
to  try  to  think  in  the  long  fortnight  at  Bellombre.  It 
will  be  much  easier  at  home,"  added  she,  "  because 
here  I  have  many  pleasant  things  that  I  like  to  do,  and 
1  have  always  mamma  to  talk  to  when  she  has  done 
being  busy.     So  pray  ride  as  much  as  you  please." 

One  day  of  this  week  was  spent  with  their  excellent 
friend  Colonel  Birch.  He  rejoiced  to  hear  that  the 
two  young  friends  were  to  go  to  the  same  school,  though 
he  was  still  inclined  to  believe  that  some  delay  woiSd 
occur. 

Two  evenings  were  happily  spent  in  revisiting,  cer- 
tainly for  the  last  time  this  season,  old  Mrs.  Wheeler, 
and  the  gardener  of  the  green  gale.  Frank  was  proud  to 
feel  that  his  having  been  laughed  at  about  them  had 
made  no  impression  upon  his  mind.  He  left  with  Mrs. 
"Wheeler  a  legacy  which  she  much  prized,  a  dog,  the 
son  of  Colonel  Birch's  great  dog,  which  the  colonel  had 
trained  for  him,  and  which  was  the  most  diverting  as 
well  as  the  most  obedient  of  dogs,  and  Mrs.  Wheeler 
had  no  doubt  would  prove  the  most  faithful  of  his  kind. 
"  I  was  just  wishing  for  a  dog,''  said  she,  "  for  you  must 
know,  sir,  our  Jowler  died  last  winter." 

"  Do  you  think  I  did  not  know  that  V  said  Frank ; 
*'  that  is  the  very  reason  I  thought  of  bringing  you  a 
young  dog,  to  comfort  you  for  the  loss  of  the  old  one." 

"  Oh,  tiunk  at  his  remembering  about  my  old  dog,  and 
40* 


474  FRANK. 

my  old  self,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wheeler,  "  after  he  has 
been  away  too,  and  is  going  off  to  school.  God  bless 
him,  wherever  he  goes  he  will  never  forget  his  friends.** 

This  last  was  heard  only  by  Mary,  after  Frank  had 
left  the  house.  His  farewell  visit  to  the  gardener  and 
his  son  was  still  more  satisfactory ;  for  Lewis  had  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  his  father,  desiring  to  have  the  gar- 
dener's son  sent  to  him,  and  requesting  that  Frank 
might  be  the  bearer  of  this  good  news.  There  was 
also  a  smaller  service  which  Frank  did  for  the  gardener, 
"which  pleased  him  particularly.  While  he  was  at  Bel- 
lombre,  he  had  heard  of  many  curious  practical  experi- 
ments on  the  means  of  improving  fruit-trees,  and  espe- 
cially on  the  possibility  of  making  our  pears  and  peaches 
as  large,  as  fine,  and  as  abundant  as  any  which  are  to 
be  found  in  foreign  countries,  Frank  thought  of  his 
friend  the  gardener  when  he  had  heard  these  observa- 
tions, and  repeated  as  much  as  he  could  remember  of 
them,  lending  the  gardener  the  Review*  in  which  the 
books  containing  them  are  mentioned. 

With  some  of  these  he  w^as  already  acquainted ; 
others  were  new  to  him,  and  they  were,  as  he  said, 
the  very  things  he  most  wished  to  see ;  he  added, 
that  he  took  it  particularly  kindly  of  Frank  that  he 
thought  of  him  and  his  garden  in  the  midst  of  all  his 
diversions  and  fine  people  at  Bellombre ;  this  was  what 
he  called  having  a  good  memory  in  every  sense  of  the 
word ;  "  and  here  is  a  garden,  m  which  you  and  your 
friends  will  always  find  yourselves  as  welcome  as  if  it 
were  your  own,  and  Miss  Mary  the  same." 

The  gardener  inquired  when  Frank  was  to  be  at 
home  again.  And  when  he  was  told  it  was  to  be  at 
Christmas,  he  picked  out  for  Mary  some  Christmas-rose 
and  wali-flower,  which  he  told  her  would  make  a  good 
figure  in  their  garden  at  that  season,  and  would  be  in 
blow  to  welcome  him.  Mary  thanked  him  more  for 
this  thought  than  for  all  he  had  ever  given  her  before,  of 

•'  Purple  grape,  green  fig,  or  apricot," 

She  found  the  days  of  .this  last  week  passed  away 
terrible  quickly,  and  when  it  was  Saturday  she  could 
not  believe  it ;  she  thought  it  was  Friday,  she  had  hoped 
it  was  Jriday,  till  the  appearance  of  a  little  new  trunk, 

♦  Edinburgh  Review,  No,  LXVIIJ. 


PRANK.  475 

In  which  Frank's  clothes  were  to  be  packed,  convinced 
her  of  the  melancholy  certainty.  Frank,  who  felt  that 
it  was  the  part  of  a  man  to  keep  up  her  spirits  and  his 
own,  did  whatever  he  could  to  comfort  her;  but,  even 
with  him,  it  came  to  whistling  sometimes,  and  some- 
times to  the  wise  observation,  "  It's  all  for  my  good, 
Mary;"  and  sometimes  to  the  unanswerable  assertion, 
"  Christmas  will  come,  you  know,  Mary." 

Every  thing  he  could  think  of  that  he  possessed,  and 
that  she  could  like,  he  set  apart  for  her  in  their  last  visit 
to  his  garden  ;  and  when  he  was  sorting  his  goods  for 
packing  up,  she  thanked  him,  and  thought  he  was  very 
good-natured,  and  wondered  how  he  could  think  of  so 
many  things  for  her  in  all  his  hurry :  but  what  com- 
forted her  best  was  the  employing  her  to  do  something 
for  him ;  and  he  and  Mrs.  Catharine  together  found  out 
a  variety  of  jobs  that  Mary  could  do  better  than  any- 
body else.  There  were  handkerchiefs  to  be  marked, 
and  lists  to  be  written  of  his  clothes  and  his  books,  fox 
she  was  a  practised  and  expert  hand  at  writing  lists. 

The  books  which  he  was  allowed  to  carry  with  him 
were  few  indeed  compared  with  the  numbers  which  he 
had  intended  should  go  at  the  bottom  of  the  trunk,  but 
which  would  have  filled,  as  Mrs.  Catharine  declared, 
bottom,  middle,  and  top.  In  the  selection  which  Frank 
and  Mary  together  made,  there  were  a  few  very  valua- 
ble books.  Among  these,  the  principal  were  a  Bible, 
which  had  long  been  his  mother's,  and  the  Homer's 
Iliad,  which  his  father  had  won  as  a  prize  at  school,  and 
which  he  had  given  to  Frank,  expressing  a  hope  that  he 
would  some  day  bring  home  premium  books  of  his  own. 
Of  this  Homer,  unfortunately,  however,  the  first  volume 
was  not  to  be  found ;  high  and  low,  above,  about,  and 
underneath,  it  was  searched  for  in  vain.  One  faint 
hope  remained  that  it  might  not  have  been  returned  by 
Colonel  Birch.  Frank's  mother,  at  his  earnest  request, 
sent  an  express  messenger  to  the  colonel,  late  in  the 
evening,  with  a  note  from  Frank,  beseeching  him  to 
look  over  aU  his  books,  and  if  he  could  find  the  lost 
volume,  to  be  sure  to  send  it  this  night,  or  very,  very 
early  in  the  morning,  as  they  were  to  set  off  at  seven. 
The  trunk  was  at  last  closed,  and  locked,  and  corded, 
and  nothing  remained  for  Mary  to  do  but  to  look  at  the 
letters  marked  in  brass  nails  on  the  lid ;  and,  bright  as 
those  nails  were,  she  could  scarcely  see  them  through 


X2S  FRANK. 

the  tears  which  dimmed  her  eyes ;  therefore  she  Stoop- 
ed down,  and  began  to  brighten  the  F,  by  rubbing  it 
with  great  care ;  but  tears  falling  fast  while  she  rubbed, 
it  may  be  doubted  whether  she  did  not  do  more  harm 
than  good.  Kind  Mrs.  Catharine  called  her  to  help  to 
pack  the  carpet-bag,  and  Mary  sprung  up,  and  ran  for 
the  various  odd  things  which  were  to  go  in  that  last  and 
best  resource. 

Night  came — and  morning,  and  early  breakfast,  at 
which  all  who  were  going  and  all  who  were  to  stay 
assembled.  Mary  ate  little,  but  put  every  thing  near 
Frank  and  Lewis  which  it  was  possible  they  could  eat. 
She  said  not  a  word,  but  she  listened  to  every  word 
that  was  said  to  Frank,  especially  the  last  words  of 
advice  which  his  father  and  mother  gave  him,  and  which 
Mary  seemed  to  think  she  was  also  to  remember  for 
him. 

No  answer  yet  from  Colonel  Birch ;  but,  just  as  they 
had  given  up  all  hopes  of  the  return  of  their  messenger, 
the  colonel  himself  appeared. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  he,  as  he  entered  the  room, 
"  that  Frank  is  really  going  ]  It  is  well  you  missed 
your  book,  and  sent  your  messenger.  I  own  I  had  de- 
pended so  much  on  mamma's  keeping  him  one  day 
longer,  that  I  had  not  intended  coming  to  take  leave  of 
him  till  to-morrow.  I  am  glad  that  I  am  in  time  to  say 
good-by,  and  God  bless  you,  my  dear  boy." 

Frank  looked  as  if  he  said,  "  Thank  you." 

The  colonel  excused  the  want  of  the  words,  and  con- 
tinued,— 

"  Here's  your  book :  I  found  it  for  you  at  past  twelve 
o'clock  last  night.  Now,  Frank,  I  have  no  advice  to 
give  you :  you  can  want  none  with  such  a  father  and 
mother  as  Heaven  has  blessed  you  with.  But,  I  must 
tell  you,  that  I  expect  you  will  distinguish  yourself — 
do  you  hear,  my  boy  1" 

*'  I  do ;  and  I  will  if  I  can,"  said  Frank. 

"  And  you  can  if  you  will,"  said  his  father. 

"  I  expect  you  will  distinguish  yourself,  as  your 
father  did  before  you,"  continued  Colonel  Birch,  "  and 
as  your  friend  Lewis  is  doing  as  fast  as  he  can. 

"  Some  celebrated  man  says  that  Alexander,  at  the 
head  of  the  world,  never  felt  so  much  true  pleasure  as 
is  felt  by  a  schoolboy  at  the  head  of  his  school.  I  know 
nothing  about  Alexander's  feelings,  but  I  remember,  as 


FRANK.  477 

well  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  the  joy  your  father  felt, 
and  I  for  him,  the  day  he  got  to  the  head  of  our  school. 
So  fare  you  well,  my  dear  little  fellow ;  follow  his  ex- 
ample." 

Frank  returned  the  squeeze  of  the  hand  which 
Colonel  Birch  gave  him,  but  his  heart  was  so  full  that 
he  could  not  utter  a  single  word. 

"  I  will  never  disgrace  them !"  was  the  sense  of  what 
he  thought,  as  he  turned  away  from  his  father,  and 
mother,  and  Mary,  and  got  into  the  carriage.  Mary  put 
the  volume  of  the  Iliad  in  after  him.  His  mother  had 
written  in  the  first  page  the  following  hnes,  which 
Frank  never  saw  till  the  next  day. 

"  Go  on,  dear  boy,  'tis  Virtue  leads ; 
He  that  determines,  half  succeeds ; 

No  obstacles  can  move. 
Seek  useful  knowledge,  honest  fame, 
Do  honour  to  an  honoured  name  ; 

And  well  thy  race  approve. 

"  Oh,  think  what  joy  my  heart  shall  know, 
How  bright  th'  expiring  lamp  shall  glow, 

When  quivering  o'er  the  tomb ; 
If  in  the  evening  of  my  days, 
I  live  to  hear  thy  well-earn'd  praise, 
And  see  thy  honours  bloom."  • 


THB  END  OF  FRANK. 


NEW-YORK,  1848.    '<* 


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THE  JEWS.— History  of  the  Jews. 
By  Rev.  H.  H.  Milman.  3  vols. 
ISmo.  With  Maps  and  Engra- 
vings. [Family  Library,  Nos.  1, 
2,  and  3.] 

THE  BIBLE.— History  of  the  Bible. 
By  Rev.  G.  R.  Gleig.  2  vols. 
lomo.  Map.  [Family  Libraiy, 
Nos.  12  and  13.] 

CHIVALRY.— History  of  Chivalry 
and  the  Crusades.  By  G.  P.  R, 
James,  Esq.  ISmo.  Engraving. 
[Family  Library,  No.  20.] 

EGYPT.  — View  of  Ancient  aad 
Modem  Egypt.  By  Rev.  M.  Rn»- 
sell,  LL.D.  ISmo.  Engravingl. 
[Family  Library,  No.  23.] 

POLAND.— History  of  Poland.  By 
James  Fletcher,  Esq.  18mo.  Por- 
trait of  Kosciusko.  [Family  Li- 
brary, No.  24.] 


History —  Continued. 


FESTIVALS,  &c.  — Festivals, 
Games,  and  Amusements,  Ancient 
and  Modem.  By  Horatio  Smith, 
Esq.  With  Additions,  by  Samuel 
Woodworth,  Esq.,  of  New- York. 
18mo.  Engravings.  [Family  Li- 
brary, No.  25.] 

PALESTINE.— Palestine,  or  the 
Holy  Land.  By  Rev.  M.  Russell, 
LL.D.  18mo.  With  Engravings. 
[Family  Library,  No.  27.] 

TURNER  S  SACRED  HISTORY. 
— Sacred  History  of  the  World. 
Attempted  to  be  philosophically 
considered.  By  Sharon  Turner. 
3  vols.  18mo.  [Family  Library, 
Nos.  32,  72,  and  84.] 

VENETIAN  HISTORY.— Sketch- 
es from  Venetian  History.  By 
Rev.  Edward  Smedley,  M.A.  2 
vols.  18mo.  Engravings.  [Fam- 
ily Library,  Nos.  43  and  44.] 

BRITISH  INDIA.— Historical  and 
Descriptive  Account  of  British  In- 
dia. By  Hugh  Murray,  James 
Wilson,  R.  K.  GreviUe,  LL.D., 
Whitelaw  Ainslie,  M.D.,  WiUiam 
Rhind,  Professor  Jameson,  Profes- 
sor Wallace,  and  Capt.  Clarence 
Dalrymple.  3  vofe.  18mo.  En- 
gravings. [Family  Library,  Nos. 
47,  48,  and  49.] 

IRELAND.  — History  of  Ireland, 
from  the  Anglo-Norman  Invasion 
to  the  Union  of  the  Country  with 
Great  Britain.  By  W.  C.  Tay- 
lor. With  Additions,  by  Will- 
iam Sampson,  Esq.  2  vols.  18mo. 
[Family  Library,  Nos.  51  and  52.] 

NORTHERN  COASTS  OF 
AMERICA.— Historical  View  of 
the  Progress  of  Discovery  on  the 
more  Northern  Coasts  of  America. 
ByP.F.Tytler,Esq.  18mo.  Map, 
&c.     [Family  Library,  No.  53.] 

NUBU  AND  ABYSSINIA.— Nu- 
bia and  Abyssinia :  comprehend- 
ing their  Civil  History,  Antiqui- 
ties, Arts,  Religion,  Literature, 
and  Natural  History.  By  the  Rev. 
Michael  Russell,  LL.D.  ISmo. 
Map  and  Engravings.  [Family 
Libiary,  No.  61.] 

ARABIA.— History  of  Arabia,  An- 
cient and  Modem.  Containing  a 
Peicription  of  the  Countty — pu 


Account  of  its  Inliabitanta,  Anti- 
quities, Political  Condition,  and 
early  Commerce — the  Life  and  Re- 
ligion of  Mohammed — the  Con- 
quests, Arts,  and  Literature  of  the 
Saracens — the  Caliphs  of  Damas- 
cus, Bagdad,  Africa,  and  Spain — 
the  Civil  Government  and  Reli- 
gious Ceremonies  of  the  Modern 
Arabs — Origin  and  Suppression  of 
the  Wahabees — the  Institutions, 
Character,  Manners,  and  Customs 
of  the  Bedouins — and  a  Compre- 
hensive View  of  its  Natural  His- 
tory. By  Andrew  Crichton.  18mo. 
Map  and  Engravings.  [Family  Li- 
brary, Nos.  68  and  69.] 
PERSIA. — Historical  and  Descrip- 
tive Account  of  Persia.  With  a 
detailed  View  of  its  Resources, 
Government,  Population,  Natural 
History,  and  the  Character  of  its 
Inhabitants,  particularly  of  the 
Wandering  Tribes :  including  a 
Description  of  Afghanistan  and  Be- 
loochistan.  By  James  B.  Eraser, 
Esq.  18mo.  With  Map  and  En- 
gravings.    [Family  Lib.,  No.  70.] 

BARBARY  STATES.  —  History 
and  Present  Condition  of  the  Bar- 
bary  States.  Comprehending  a 
View  of  their  Civil  Institutions, 
Antiquities,  Arts,  Religion,  Lit- 
erature, Commerce,  Agriciilture, 
and  Natural  Productions.  By  Rev. 
Michael  Russell,  LL.D.  18mo. 
Map  and  Engravings.  [Family 
Library,  No.  73.] 

ITALY. — A  Compendious  History 
of  Italy.  Translated  from  the 
Italian  of  Sforzosi.  By  Nathaniel 
Greene.  18mo.  [Family  Libra- 
ry, No.  79.] 

CHINA.— The  Chinese  :  a  general 
Description  of  the  Empire  of  Chi- 
na and  its  Inhabitants.  By  John 
Francis  Davis,  Esq.  2  vols.  ISmo. 
Map  and  Engravings.  [Family 
Library,  Nos.  80  and  81.] 

CIRCUMNAVIGATION  OF  THE 
GLOBE. — An  historical  Account 
of  the  Circumnavigation  of  the 
Globe,  and  of  the  Progress  of  Dis- 
covery in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  from 
the  Voyage  of  Magellan  to  the 
Death  of  Cook.  18mo.  Engra- 
vings.   [Family  Library,  No.  ^,] 


History — Continued. 


TTTLER'S  UNIVERSAL  HISTO- 
RY.— Universal  History,  from  the 
Creation  of  the  World  to  the  De- 
cease of  George  III.,  1820.  By 
Ihe  Hon.  Alexander  Fraser  Tjrtler 
and  ReT.  Edward  Nares,  D.D.  6 
▼ols.  1 8mo.  [Family  Library,  Nos. 
86,  87,  88,  89,  90,  and  91.] 

BRITISH  AMERICA.— An  histor- 
ical and  descriptive  Account  of 
British  America;  comprehending 
Canada  (Upper  and  Lower),  Nova 
Scotia,  New-Bronswick,  New- 
foundland, Prince  Edward  Island, 
the  Bermudas,  and  the  Fur  Coun- 
tries :  their  History  from  the  Ear- 
liest Settlement — their  Statistics, 
Topography,  Commerce,  Fisher- 
ies, &c. —  and  their  Social  and 
Political  Condition  ;  as  also  an  Ac- 
count of  the  Manners  and  Present 
State  of  the  Aboriginal  Tribes. 
By  Hugh  Murray.  2  vols.  18mo. 
With  Engravings.  [Family  Li- 
brary, Nos.  101  and  102.] 

tINE  ARTS.— Outline  History  of 
the  Fine  Arts.  Embracing  a  View 
of  the  Rise,  Progress,  and  Influ- 
ence of  the  Arts  among  different 
Nations,  Ancient  and  Modem, 
with  Notices  of  the  Character  and 
Works  of  many  celebrated  Artists. 
ISmo.  Engravings.  [Family  Li- 
brary, No.  103.] 

KEIGHTLEY'S  ENGLAND.  — 
History  of  England,  from  the  Ear- 
liest Period  to  1839.  By  Thomas 
Keightley.  Edited  by  an  Ameri- 
can. 5  vols.  18mo.  [Family  Li- 
brary, Nos.  114, 115,  116,  117",  and 
118.] 

UNITED  STATES.— History  of 
the  United  States,  from  their  first 
Settlement  as  Colonies  to  the  Close 
of  the  Administration  of  Mr.  Mad- 
ison in  1817.  By  Salma  Hale. 
2  vols.  18mo.  [Family  Library, 
Nos.  119  and  120. 

ICELAND,  GREENLAND,  &c.— 
An  historical  and  descriptive  Ac- 
count of  Iceland,  Greenland,  and 
the  Faroe  Islands.  18mo.  Map 
and  Engravings.  [Family  Libra- 
ry, No.  131.] 

JAPAN. — Manners  and  Customs  of 
the  Japanese,  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century.    From  the  Arcount*  of 


recent  Dutch  Residents  in  ItcptOj 
and  from  the  German  Work  at 
Dr.  Ph.  Fr.  Von  Siebold.  ISmo. 
[Family  Library,  No.  132.] 

CONNECTICUT.— History  of  Con- 
necticut, from  the  first  Settlement 
to  the  Present  Time.  By  Theo- 
dore Dwight,  Jr.  ISmo.  [Family 
Library,  No.  133.] 

RUINT:D  CITIES.— Ruins  of  An- 
cient Cities;  with  General  and 
Particular  Accounts  of  their  Rise, 
Fall,  and  Present  Condition.  By 
Charles  Bncke.  2  vols.  18mo. 
[Family  Library,  Nos.  134  and 
135.] 

DENMARK,  SWEDEN,  AND 
NORWAY.  —  Scandinavia,  An- 
cient and  Modern ;  being  a  Histo- 
ry of  Denmark,  Sweden,  and  Nor- 
way :  comprehending  a  Descrip- 
tion of  these  Countries — an  Ac- 
count of  the  Mythology,  Govern- 
ment, Laws,  Manners,  and  Insti- 
tutions of  the  early  Inhabitants — 
and  of  the  Present  State  of  Socie- 
ty, Religion,  Literature,  Arts,  and 
Commerce:  with  Illustrations  of 
their  Natural  History.  By  An- 
drew Crichton,  LL.D.,  and  Henry 
Wheaton,  LL.D.  2  vols.  18mo. 
Map  and  Engravings.  [Family 
Library,  Nos.  136  and  137.] 

MICHIGAN.— History  of  Michigan, 
from  its  earliest  Colonization  to 
the  Present  Time.  By  James  H. 
Lanman.  I8mo.  [Family  Libra- 
ry, No.  139.] 

NAPOLEON'S  RUSSUN  EXPE- 
DITION.—History  of  the  Expedi- 
tion to  Russia,  undertaken  by  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  in  the  year 
1812.  By  General  Count  Philip 
de  Segur.  2  vols.  18mo.  Map. 
[Family  Library,  Nos.  141  and 
142.] 

HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY.— 
An  Epitome  of  the  History  of  Phi- 
losophy. Being  the  Work  adopt- 
ed by  the  University  of  France  for 
Instruction  in  the  Colleges  and 
High  Schools.  Translated  from 
the  French,  with  Additions,  and  a 
Continuation  of  the  History.  By 
C.  S.  Henry,  D.D.  2  vols.  18mo. 
[Family  Libiary,  Nos.  143  and 
144.1 


History — Continued. 


•PALDING'S  ITALY.— Italy  and 
the  Italian  Islands.     By  William 
Spalding,    Esq.      3    vols.     18mo. 
Map,  &c.     [Family  Library,  Nos. 
151,  152,  and  153.3 
DUNLAP'S  NEW-YORK.— Histo- 
ry of  New-York.     By  Wm.  Dun- 
lap.     2  vols.  18mo.    Engravings. 
GOLDSMITH'S    GREECE.— His- 
tory of  Greece.    By  Dr.  Goldsmith. 
With  Notes,  by  Miss  Eliza  Rob- 
ins, Author  of  "  American  Popular 
Lessons,''  &c.     18mo. 
GOLDSMITH'S    ROME.— History 
of    Rome.      By    Dr.    Goldsmith. 
With  Notes,  by  Henry  W.  Her- 
bert.   18mo. 
MOORS   OF   SPAIN.— History  of 
the  Moors  in  Spain.     Translated 
from  the   French  of  M.  Florian. 
To  which  is  added,  a  Brief  Ac- 
count of  the  Rise  and  Decline  of 
the   Mohammedan    Empire  —  the 
Literature,  Science,  and  Religion 
of   the  Arabs — and    the   Present 
Condition    of    Mohammedanism. 
18mo. 
LOUISIANA.— History  of  Louisia- 
na, from  its   first  Discovery  and 
Settlement  to  the  Present  Time. 
By  E.  Bunner. 
THE    LUTHERAN    REFORMA- 
TION.— Luther  and  the  Lutheran 
Reformation.    By  Rev.  John  Scott, 
A.M.    2  vols.  18mo.     Portraits. 
REFORMATION  IN  FRANCE.— 
History    of   the    Reformation    in 
France.    By  Rev.  Edward  Smed- 
ley.     3  vols.  18mo.     Portrait. 
AMERICAN    HISTORY.  — Tales 
from  American  History.    By  Miss 
Eliza  Robins.    3  vols.  ISmo.    En- 
gravings.    [Boys'  and  Girls'  Li- 
brary, Nos.  9,  10,  and  11.] 
UNCLE   PHILIP'S   VIRGINIA.— 
Uncle  Philip's  Conversations  about 
the   History   of  Virginia.     18mo. 
With   Engravings.       [Boys'    and 
Girls'  Library,  No.  21.] 
UNCLE  PHILIP'S  NEW-YORK. 
—  Uncle    Philip's    Conversations 
with  the  Children  about  the  His- 
tory of  New-York.    18mo.    En- 
gravings.    [Boys'   and  Girls'  Li- 
brary, Nos.  23  and  24.] 


AMERICAN  REVOLUTION.  — 
Tales  of  the  Revolution:  being 
Rare  and  Remarkable  Passages  of 
tlie  History  of  the  War  of  1775. 
By  B.  B.  Thatcher,  Esq.  18mo. 
[Boys'  and  Girls'  Library,  No.  25.] 
LOST  GREENLAND.— Uncle 
Philip's  Conversations  with  the 
Children  about  the  Lost  Colonies 
of  Greenland.  18mo.  Engravings. 
[Boys'  and  Girls'  Library,  No.  28.] 

UNCLE  PHILIP'S  MASSACHU- 
SETTS.—Uncle  Philip's  Conver- 
sations with  the  Children  about 
Massachusetts.  2  vols.  18mo.  En- 
gravings. [Boys'  and  Girls'  Li- 
brary, Nos.  29  and  30.] 

UNCLE  PHILIP'S  NEW-HAMP- 
SHIRE.—Uncle  Philip's  Conver- 
sations about  New-Hampsliire.  U 
vols.  18mo.  [Boys'  and  Girls'  Li- 
brary, Nos.  31  and  32.] 

XENOPHON.— Xenophon's  Histo- 
ry of  the  Expedition  of  Cyrus,  and 
Account  of  the  Institution  of  Cy- 
rus. Translated  by  Edward  Spel- 
man,  Esq.,  and  Hon.  Maurice  Asb- 
ly  Cooper,  M.A.  2  vols.  18mo. 
[Classical  Library,  Nos.  1  and  2.] 

SALLUST.  —  Sallust's  Histonr  of 
the  Jugurthine  War  and  of  the 
Conspiracy  of  Catiline.  Trans- 
lated by  William  Rose,  A.M. 
18mo.  Portrait.  [Classical  Li- 
brary, No.  5.] 

C.SSAR.  —  CsBsar's  Commentaries 
on  the  Wars  in  Gaul,  the  Civil 
War,  and  the  Alexandrian,  Afri- 
can, and  Spanish  Wars.  Trans- 
lated by  William  Duncan.  2  vols. 
18  mo.  Portrait.  [Classical  Li- 
brary, Nos.  6  and  7.] 

THUCYDIDES.—  Thucydides's 
History  of  the  Peloponnesian  War. 
Translated  by  WiUiam  Smith, 
A.M.  2  vols.  18rao.  Portrait. 
[Classical  Library,  Nos.  22  <fe  23.] 

LIVY.  —  Livy's  History  of  Rome. 
Translated  by  George  Baker.  5 
vols.  18mo.  Portrait.  [Classical 
Library,  Nos.  24, 25, 26,  27,  &  28.] 

HERODOTUS.— Herodotus's  Gen- 
ei-al  Histo^.  Translated  by  Rev. 
William  Beloe.  3  vols.  18mo. 
Portrait.  [Classical  Library,  Nos. 
29,  30,  and  31.] 


Biography* 


BIOGRAPHY. 


SPARKS'S  AMERICAN  BIOGRA- 
PHY.— Library  of  American  Bio- 
graphy. Edited  by  Jared  Sparks, 
LL.D.  10  vols.  12mo,  Portraits, 
&c. 

Vol.  I.  contains  Life  of  John  Stark, 
by  E.  Everett. — Life  of  Charles 
Brockden  Brown,  by  W.  H.  Pres- 
cott. — Life  of  Richard  Montgom- 
ery, by  John  Armstrong. — Life  of 
Ethan  AUen,  by  Jared  Sparks. 

Vol.  II.  Life  of  Alexander  Wilson, 
by  Wm.  B.  O.  Peabody.— Life  of 
Captain  John  Smith,  by  George  S. 
HiUiard. 

Vol.  III.  Life  and  Treason  of  Bene- 
dict Arnold,  by  Jared  Sparks. 

Vol.  IV.  Life  of  Anthony  Wayne,  by 
John  Armstrong. — Life  of  Sir  Hen- 
ry Vane,  by  C.  W.  Uphara. 

Vol.  V.  Life  of  John  Eliot,  the  Apos- 
tle of  the  Indians,  by  Convers 
Francis. 

Vol.  VI.  Life  of  William  Pinkney, 
by  Henry  Wheaton. — Life  of  Will- 
iam Ellery,  by  E.  T.  Channing. — 
Life  of  Cotton  Mather,  by  Wm.  B. 
O.  Peabody. 

Vol.  VII.  Life  of  Sir  William  Phips, 
by  Francis  Bowen. — Life  of  Israel 
Putnam,  by  Wm.  B.  O.  Peabody. 
— Memoir  of  Lucretia  Maria  David- 
son, by  Miss  Sedgwick. — Life  of 
David  Rittenhouse,  by  James  Ren- 
wick. 

Vol.  VIII.  Life  of  Jonathan  Edwards, 

:  by  Samuel  Miller. — Life  of  David 
Brainerd,  by  Wm.  B.  O.  Peabody. 

Vol.  IX.  Life  of  Baron  Steuben,  by 
Francis  Bowen. — Life  of  Sebastian 
Cabot,  by  Charles  Hayward,  Jr. — 
Life  of  William  Eaton,  by  Corne- 
lius C.  Felton. 

Vol.  X.  Life  of  Robert  Fulton,  by  J. 
Renwick. — Life  of  Henry  Hudson, 
by  Henry  R.  Cleveland. — Life  of 
Joseph  Warren,  by  Alexander  H. 
Everett.  —  Life  of  Father  Mar- 
quette, by  Jared  Sparks. 

JOHN  JAY.— Life  of  John  Jay; 
with  Selections  from  his  Cone- 
spondcnce  and  Miscellaneous  Pa- 
pers. By  his  Son,  Willia»n  Jay. 
2  vols.  8vo.     PoxtiTiit. 


PLUTARCH,  8vo.  —  Plutarch'i 
Lives.  Translated  from  the  Ori- 
ginal Greek,  with  Notes,  and  a 
Life  of  Plutarch.  By  John  Lang> 
home,  M.D.,  and  WiUiam  Lang- 
home,  A.M.    8vo.    Portrait. 

PLUTARCH,  12mo.— The  same 
•work,  in  4  vols.  12mo,  being  print- 
ed with  large  type. 

MOORE'S  BYRON.— Letters  and 
Journals  of  Lord  Byron.  With 
Notices  of  his  Life.  By  Thomai 
Moore,  Esq.   2  vols.  8vo.   Portrait. 

AARON  BURR.— Memoirs  of  Aaron 
Burr.  With  Miscellaneous  Corre- 
spondence. By  Matthew  L.  Davia. 
2  vols.  8vo.    Portraits. 

BURR'S  PRIVATE  JOURNAL.— 
Private  Journal  of  Aaron  Burr, 
during  his  Residence  in  Europe  ; 
■with  Selections  from  his  Corre- 
spondence. Edited  by  M.  L.  Davis. 
2  vols.  8vo. 

MRS.  HANNAH  MORE.— Memoirs 
of  the  Life  and  Correspondence  of 
Mrs.  Hannah  More.  By  William 
Roberts.    2  vols.  12mo.    Portrait. 

GOVERNOR  LIVINGSTON.-Me- 
moir  of  the  Life  of  William  Liv- 
ingston, Governor  of  the  State  of 
New-Jersey  from  1776  to  1790. 
With  Ettracts  from  his  Corre- 
spondence, and  Notices  of  varioua 
Members  of  his  Family.  By  Theo- 
dore Sedgwick,  Jr.  8vo.  Portrait. 

THE  CONGRESS  OF  1776.— 
Lives  of  the  Signers  of  the  Decla- 
ration of  Independence.  By  N. 
D  wight.     12mo. 

REV.  JOHN  SUMMERFIELD.— 
Life  of  Rev.  John  Summerfield. 
By  — .  Holland,  Esq.  With  addi- 
tional Selections  from  his  Corre- 
spondence.    8vo.     [In  press.] 

LORD  EDWARD  FITZGERALD. 
—The  Life  and  Death  of  Lord 
Edward  Fitzgerald.  By  Thomaa 
Moore.    2  vols.  12mo.    Portrait. 

DUCHESS  D'ABRANTES.  — Me- 
moiis  of  the  Duchess  d'Abrantes 
(Madame  Junot).   8vo.    Portrait*. 


UCSB  LIBRAiiy 


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